


The Core

by Balisong7



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Case Fic, Dehumanization, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Beta Read, Post-War, Redemption, Slow Burn, Suspense, Transformers Spark Bonds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:41:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 39
Words: 110,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26195047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Balisong7/pseuds/Balisong7
Summary: The post-war detective sitcom that no one asked for.Warning tags are given at the beginning of each chapter to avoid spoilers.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock & Hot Rod, Drift | Deadlock/Ratchet, Jazz/Prowl, Megatron/Optimus Prime, Megatron/Soundwave (Transformers), Skyfire/Starscream (Transformers)
Comments: 275
Kudos: 235





	1. Chapter 1

It’s a special day on Cybertron.

When most residents of the planet are still lazily slipping into their morning routine, few of them are aware of how special today is. It is no holiday, nor a creation day of their best friend or significant other, or the day when everyone’s favourite racer from Velocitron comes to visit, or the anniversary of the Treaty, or the parade day to celebrate peace, it is none of those days. But still, it is an important day on Cybertron. It was destined to be special vorns ago, yet so few of them seem to remember. Those who do, however, have gathered anxiously in the City Hall. A meeting was scheduled ten cycles in advance just to make sure every member related to the event that is bound to happen today will gather together this morning, to be prepared for what may strike next.

As always, Soundwave was already waiting in the meeting room when everyone else arrived. Mechs greeted each other over a cube of Energon, some visibly tireder than others. Starscream is acting particularly out of his skin, he sits there like he would rather be in his death berth than being here and is so eager to get it over with as soon as possible. Some mechs such as Astrotrain are giving him funny looks, which Skyfire is trying his best to shield the jet from using his massive frame. Although everyone in the hall spare a glance at Starscream out of curiosity every now and then, they all chit and chat in low whispers, about whether or not Optimus Prime would eventually show up for this meeting.

And he did, when the self-retired Prime showed up at the door, he looks like he was directly blasted out of his berth by a siren horn a minute ago. Exhausted, unpolished, and deeply uninterested, he took the seat next to Prowl, who has been standing next to the projector, impatiently twitching his door-wings in anxiety ever since he got here.

Across the table sits Soundwave, who kept staring at the Prime since his arrival, but as usual, no one is questioning Soundwave’s act.

When everyone is properly seated, Prowl casts out a cough and announced.

“Now we have everyone here, the meeting may begin. We all know why we are here today, but I would like to offer you more accurate update.”

“The Core Computer and Defence System has received the most recent update from satellite console X7 about two joors ago, Megatron’s shuttle will arrive between 1000 and 1200, depending on how much time it takes for his shuttle to get an entry clearance from the space harbour.”

He was greeted by a moment of pure silence.

“Uh,” Bumblebee broke the silence with considerate amount of hesitance in his voice, “are we gonna, give him the clearance then?”

“As long as his shuttle isn’t equipped with any weapon in Class 2 or above,” Red Alert explained, “Or harbouring dangerous alien species from any listed planets. According to the Treaty, he’s entitled to enter the Cybertron territory again and, re-enter the Cybertronian society if he wishes to.”

“I doubt he’d take the latter part very well.” Thundercracker murmured from the other side of the table. “Is this why we are here? To have every bot who has been affiliated with him in his war-devoted life to justify his re-entry to the society?”

“Or let’s just hope he has something bad on his shuttle.” Skywarp suggested, “Or we can always sneak in with something inappropriate.”

“You’d like to do that?” Ironhide casts the teleporter a doubting look.

Skywarp opened his mouth but Starscream shot him a cold look that shut him up immediately.

“Do we have any proof,” the former Decepticon air commander glared at Ironhide who has just challenged his trine mate to an extremely stupid task, then Prowl, who is still standing by the projector, “that there isn’t an army following him to Cybertron.”

“Not within the scan range of our defence system, no.” Prowl stated impatiently, after 700 vorns he’s still not taking a liking in the way Starscream questions his authority.

“And beyond that?” Starscream tilted his chin.

“If you are so scared about Megatron might be somehow leading some invisible phantom army here to whip your traitorous aft all the way to the Allspark, why don’t you fly up there and take a look yourself.”

“I’m not scared of him.” Starscream snapped, a finger tapping on the table. “That rusty bucket was cowardly enough to exile on his own army. He’s in no position to call me a traitor. I’d like to say it’s the other way around.”

Hearing his words, Soundwave silently turned his helm in Optimus’ direction, and was not too surprised to see there are a few others doing the same. The face of the former Prime who had also decided to leave his position once Megatron went off-world, is as unreadable as the self-righteous prophecy books that the Iaconians used to worship in the temple before those sacred districts were flattened by the seekers under Megatron’s command. Unlike the Decepticons who were used to the endless back-stabbing drama and change of command, many Autobots did not take it well.

Prowl clearly noticed people’s icy glances at the silent Prime and thought about moving on to the next topic. But at that very moment Soundwave received a ping. He put the line through to the public channel and the projected screen switched to an audio call from the Iacon space harbour.

“We have received the request for landing.” They announced.

Everyone went silent again. Former Autobot or Decepticon, their optics are now all focused on Optimus Prime, who hasn’t been speaking a single word since his arrival. He hasn’t been here a lot ever since he signed the Treaty, deliberately stepping down from his former position as a commander. Soundwave finds himself pulling out memory files of his old speeches in order to remember what his voice sounds like.

After a long silence, Optimus finally opened his mouth. The voice flowing out of his vocaliser is a familiar one.

“Send in the inspection drones for landing vehicle’s routine check-up.”

“What, what type of inspection drone?” The mech on the line is stuttering. No one talks with the Prime all that much ever since the end of the war. According to Soundwave’s files, the mech was not affiliated to either faction during the war, either. A neutral refugee turned officer, he’s not familiar with dealing with ex-warriors, let alone dealing with both infamous ex-leaders themselves at the same time.

“Have the Core Computer run a remote diagnostic scan of the shuttle.” Optimus asked calmly.

Soundwave activated the sequence and sent an encrypted command to the Core Computer. It passes through the Core to the Defence System marked as military class priority, the scan took a few breams to complete and returned with the diagnosis of a common civilian shuttle model.

“Optimus,” Prowl tries to protest.

“Send in the inspection drones for civilian shuttle examination then.” Optimus didn’t even wait for him to finish his sentence.

“Wow, really?” Starscream sounds sarcastically impressed.

Soundwave shot him an annoyed look, but the seeker doesn’t seem to mind. Prowl looks like he is even more annoyed than Soundwave and practically anyone else present, but he said nothing. Everyone is now waiting anxiously for the result of the routine check-up. Five breems later, the drone generated a list of scanned items on board. Megatron’s privacy be damned, Soundwave sends the report directly to the display screen for everyone to see. From worn-out toothbrush to three copies of recently released books on philosophy from Caminus, the shuttle’s, Megatron’s belongs cover a range from daily necessities to entertainment, indicating he has been living on this ship for a long time, somehow occupying himself with philosophy and poetry.

Detection for potential threat has returned negative result.

Now everyone’s attention is focused on Optimus again. The former Prime is silent as he always is these days, but Soundwave hears a hidden sigh in the deep of this processor through telepathy.

“Grant him entry.” Said Optimus.

The officer from the space harbour complied immediately, but only a klik later he’s pinning again. Half annoyed and half nervous about what he as to say, Soundwave once more put him through.

“Mr. Prime,” The mech whispered nervously, “The Meg, the…passenger on board has sent in a special message.”

“State the message.”

“He wishes to see Optimus Prime upon his arrival.”

Somehow, Soundwave was relived hearing this. Starscream however, rolled his optics so hard his light sensor rebooted.

The Cybetron Core Computer and Defense System is a super computer designed for maintaining the re-establishing civilisation on the planet, calculating the flow of resources, planning the construction of the city, meeting the needs of the adapting citizens, and it is also merged with military functions, including visual monitoring functions that can be applied for both law enforcement and traffic safety purposes. It has been built by Shockwave and Wheeljack when the reconstruction of Iacon city began. The project had been a controversial one at the time since it required too much budget when everything was running low on Cybertron. But the engineering team had proved that it may largely rely on reviving the old super computer owned by the Council and consequently would not require as much as proposed, Optimus personally gave it a good-to-go as his last assignment as a Prime before he stepped down and called for an election for a new council. The project was proved more than successful and now the Core is functioning perfectly both for civilian and military use.

The override key to the system is still owned by the Council in case the powerful system may somehow pose as a threat in the future. The glorified duty of its daily maintenance however, has fallen to the shoulders of Soundwave since the very beginning. Unlike others, the communications specialist did not petition to the Council’s election and has been living his life as the Council’s technician and programmer instead.

Soundwave has been the one who set up the count-down for Megatron’s return and informed the mechs beforehand to stress the issue, secretly finding delight in their sufferings as well. And before he finally meets his old Lord again in person at the airport, he genuinely believed he was the only mech pleased to see this day.

Because no, the emotion buzzing through his telepathic channel from Optimus’ direction can not be mistaken for anything other than relief.

To his credit, Megatron steps down the ladder with familiar fierceness and an unreadable face, but also with open arms. One may mistake his gesture for a display of the lack of weapons in his hands, but there is something more to that. For a moment, it almost looks like he is waiting to grab the first mech he sees on site and guide them into his arms. But no, those open servos rest on his hip joints instead.

Optimus relief turns into something Soundwave has problem figuring out.

“I see you haven’t changed.” The Prime greeted.

“The same can be said to you.” Megatron replied. Looking around himself, he said. “I see you have gathered me quite a squad of familiar faces here, can’t say I don’t appreciate the special attention. But I’m not here to stay.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Essentially a casefic of sorts. Possibly with heavy plot, lots of nonsense politics, fake science and a little bit supernatural element.

Ex-commanders or not, most mechs gathered around Megatron’s shuttle are dismissed as soon as Megatron announced his foreseeable departure. Starscream on the other hand, is visibly disappointed, he has spent enough time making sure the others will say no if they are asked to re-join in whatever the ex-Decepticon may ask them to join on sight. He has planned, that they are to throw their disdain in the face of the ex-leader today, though he also suspects that most mechs agreed to this just to enjoy his perturbed state. Now that Megatron isn’t even showing the slightest interest in the rest of them, after an intolerable moment of silence, the seeker stormed off in rage, giving Soundwave, who has been standing behind him, a full sight of his face, buried in shame and, vicious desolation.

Most mechs take Starscream’s radiant departure as a cue to dismiss themselves. Soon enough, there are only a handful of them left, including the Prime and his ex-commander Prowl who has been dropping hints to the Prime that he should leave, too, but so far, in vain.

Optimus however, is more interested in engaging in small talks with Megatron once he has been informed of his short stay.

“I would like to know what brings you here,” Optimus asks, “if you are to leave in such short time.”

“Do I ever need an excuse to visit my homeland when I still can.” is Megatron’s response.

“You are not _that_ old.”

“Before you figure out another reason to banish me from the surface of the universe, maybe not.”

Optimus looks like he finds his indication and false accusation extremely annoying but chooses not to elaborate.

“You will not be banished from your home. We shall see to it.”

“Who is ‘we’, then?” Megatron stands firm in front of Optimus, and as always, challenging his words, “Do you mean yourself, who has been retired for as long as I have been away. Or do you mean all those mechs who gathered here today for the border control?”

In distance, Soundwave could taste a pinch of guilt on the glossa at his words. Maybe it hasn’t been all that much of a good idea to remind everyone of today.

“Why do you always have to be so difficult.” The Prime is almost accepting his challenge this time, almost. “Some of us may have simply thought you could use a few familiar faces.”

“Do they then?”

This time, Optimus falls silent.

“Good old Prime, always assuming the best of people,” Megatron, satisfied by Optimus defeat, arrogantly taps a finger on his chest where the old insignia used to be. “when they are at their worst.”

“Are you then?” Optimus asks.

“Am I what?”

“Here back on Cybertron.” said Optimus. “At your worst.”

The question must have struck too close to home. Megatron’s expression changed immediately. He is once again looking at his old rival with those cold, calculating, velvet eyes, an expression he has been known for during the war, as if he is brewing a thunderstorm somewhere in his processor, and when he releases it, there will be consequences.

Optimus looks like he is sincere and furious at the same time, and he’s not backing down.

In a nanoklik’s time, Prowl already has all his speed dials to law enforcement officers in the whole district ready.

However, this ghastly moment is instantly ruined by a sharp honk that comes out of blue. All three mechs stare up to the control tower and are greeted by the apologetic engineer standing by the window.

“Sorry, leaders.” The young engineer timidly apologised through the radio. “There seems to be a glitch in our…navigating system. You need to leave the loading bay. The next cargo is coming in early.”

“Officer Prowl,” He then adds, “is it possible to have you come up and take a look at the incident report? We think the Core Computer is at fault today.”

Being the strategist who has hardly ever resisted the temptation of _reading more numbers_ , Prowl drops his speed-dials and waves the Prime a reluctant see-you-later. Seeing the ex-Autobot stepping out of the situation, Soundwave let out a quiet sigh of relief. He gives the two ex-leaders one last glance before leaving as well. He truly hopes his little mischief today will pay off eventually, and Prowl won’t be taking the glitch too seriously. If the former strategist overwrites the Core coding before he makes it back, it will be a lot more work for him today.

“I see you are not the only one who hasn’t changed.” Megatron comments as he glances at Prowl from behind.

“You’d be surprised when you meet Ratchet.” Optimus sighed.

See that they are finally alone, he proceeds to ask again.

“Can you now tell me why you come all the way to Cybertron or do I have to find out the hard way?”

“That would depend on how eager you are to find out the answer.” Megatron is as uninterested as he can be. “I don’t think you’re gonna love this one.”

“Please don’t tell me you are here for what I’m thinking.”

“When will you ever cut your slag sense of politeness.” Megatron mutters, disgusted, “And yes, I’m afraid you have an accurate guess, Prime. Yes, again. I’m here because I have heard there will be a new round of elections for the council in a month’s time.”

Optimus almost reaches out for his collar out of pure rage as his first reaction when Megatron cuts him out.

“But no, I’m not here to join the election.” He shots the Prime a calculating look, “I’m here because there is someone I want to remove from that list.”

“Don’t tell me it’s Starscream.” Optimus demands, voice freezing cold. “Starscream has recently been announced as the next head of Council. You have no right to”

“No.” Megatron cut him out abruptly with a low growl.

Then he suddenly realises he’s put too much force in his voice than he intends to. Frowning to himself, he turns away his helm from the Prime and said again.

“No.”

Then he adds.

“It’s not the right place to talk.”

Later that day, Soundwave bumps into Starscream and Skyfire talking in the second filing room between the shelves.

“I’m not asking him to come out of that stupid shuttle then ask how we’ve been doing after he left.” Starscream is practically shouting into Skyfire’s arms, but his voice is muffled by the shuttle’s wide arms.

“He could have,” The seeker stutters, desperately trying to find what to say in between harsh ventilations, “could have at least greeted some of us. I know I’m not his favourite, but, but there are others there, not just, just Optimus Prime.”

After a long pause, and a few inaudible soothing sentences from Skyfire, Starscream makes a choking sound that almost sounds like a dry laugh.

“Do you really think he knows,” he shook his helm, “that he would care enough to find out, I, his second-in-command, has been given candidacy to become the next leader.”

“He would have just spat it in right my face right there and then if he had heard of it.” The seeker laughed.

Soundwave was about to leave the room when someone commed through the Core’s intranet, right to Starscream’s office line.

Despite the fact the seeker isn’t really in his office at the moment, Soundwave puts the call through to Starscream’s private line nonetheless, thinking it will be a good distraction from his sulk. It works well every time.

As usual, Starscream, though slightly confused about the call coming up through the wrong private line, collects himself surprisingly fast. It’s Turmoil. Soundwave can hear they argue over the line about an Energon deal with Octane that also involves Lockdown. Uninterested in the topic, Soundwave becomes more curious about what Megatron travels half the universe to talk to Optimus about. Perhaps, he will be granted a chance to find out soon.

In the meantime on the other side of the city, Optimus pours brewed Energon into two cubes on his table.

“The name is ‘Flip Flare’.” Says Megatron as he takes the cube of Energon.

“I don’t think there is a candidate by the name Flip Flare in this year’s election.” Says Optimus as he closed the lid of the jar.

“That’s the point.” Megatron explained, “The off-world Cybertronians go by fake designations. I tracked him down. His fake designation is all I have so far. I also know this Cybertronian has a planet with Energon resources and has been a reliable source for several Cybertronian colonies for some time by now. I didn’t realise there might be more to the story.”

“What changed your mind.” Says Optimus as he thoughtfully sipping into his own cup.

“I ran into a deserter on GTooxo71.” Megatron puts down his half-finished cube, “He claimed to have been serving on colonised planet owned by this Flip Flare and managed to escape. I recognised him, he was a Decepticon by the name Deadlock during the war.”

Optimus frowned, “An enslaved planet?”

“Could be.” Megatron absent-mindedly plays with the handle of the cube, “He was nowhere near coherent when I found him. Clang to me as if the war is still on-going for one second, then screamed at me as if he just saw his worst nightmare the next. At first, I simply thought he’s just one of the mechs who defected then went off-world and never heard of the Treaty, might be too big of a shock to see me. Then he began whispering prayers.”

“He’s been drugged?”

“Likely.” Megatron admits.

“Where is he right now?”

“Luna-3.”

Optimus stands up and walks back into the kitchen, where he briefly commed someone. When he returns, it looks like the case has been settled, for now at least.

“That old ambulance of yours?” Megatron muses.

“He has a name.” Optimus says.


	3. Chapter 3

Luna-3 isn’t really a moon of Cybertron. It is an abandoned communications console that has been circulating the planet since it was launched into the space 3 millions of years into the four-million-year window period of both leaders’ absence, as one of Shockwave’s desperate attempts to get in touch with Nemesis once again. Much to his dismay, this station eventually only served as solid proof that both Nemesis and the Arc had gone wildly out of signal range. It soon became completely abandoned after Shockwave re-established the communications using quantum technology. He doesn’t mention it much ever since, but it is no secret he finds the station a little bit cliché.

Perhaps this little project of shenanigan has become too much of a sentient nostalgia, although Shockwave donated most of his (horrifying) project subjects after the Treaty “for the good of Cybertron”, Luna-3’s legal status still remains in a grey zone between “Decepticon territory” and Shockwave’ private property. And because of that, unauthorised entry to Luna-3 won’t trigger an immediate warning, not one that will activate the Defence System through the Core at least.

Yet, the Defence System still detected the ship when it prepares to land on Luna-3. It automatically writes into the Core as a reminder of recent breach. An officer will be able to examine it in their next working cycle. However, as usual, Soundwave notices the reminder earlier than anyone through direct input from the supercomputer, and out of cautions, he peeks into the nearest video device and identified the owner of the ship.

Ratchet, the former Autobot CMO.

More than that, there’s an active life signal on Luna-3 as well, week, yet still alive. A signal that Soundwave can identify as someone familiar, perhaps an ex-Decepticon. It’s likely to be an emergency rescue mission. But something doesn’t feel right about it. Can it be related to Megatron’s return?

Slightly worried, when he detects communication signal from the ship, Soundwave doesn’t hesitate to command the Core to hack into it.

“He has found Deadlock.” Says Optimus as soon as he receives the confirmation from Ratchet.

Megatron doesn’t look like he’s even slightly relieved.

“It would have been easier if we have Soundwave on our team.” He comments, “That kid’s processor is a mess. We don’t know how long it will take us to pull anything more useful from him.”

“Ratchet will provide him with medical care for now.” Optimus nods. “I have checked his documents. There isn’t any active charge on his file. He can be legally registered and therefore properly cared for in the rehab centre.”

“No, we can’t risk this.” says Megatron, “I told you. He’s being chased down by someone. And that someone is now on Cybertron, presumably hiding in the political ranks.”

“We.” Optimus repeats.

“Yes.” Megatron emphasised. “We. You and I, we are on this case.”

“I have work tomorrow.” Optimus says.

“What kind of work?”

“I’m a gardener working for the central park now.”

Megatron narrows his optics, “Is this a joke?”

“No.” says Optimus. “And just exactly what are you during the past few vorns?”

“I’m Megatron. One and only.”

“No,” Optimus clarifies patiently, as if he fears he won’t be able to make the other understand, “I mean what you’ve been doing, for a living. To financially rely on.”

Megatron raised one optic skeptically, “Something better than being a gardener, for sure.”

Optimus paced a few steps aside.

“Something that gives information about the trend of the under-world that usual people are not aware of, perhaps.”

“Your definition of usual people has always been shallow.” Megatron comments, “I have access to the information about the trends that civilians like you were never meant to know about all my life. Especially during my days as a new-built miner.”

“Have you been a miner recently then.”

“No.”

Optimus shook his helm in frustration. “But I have been a gardener.”

“What’s your point.”

“My point,” Optimus pauses, finding his voice, “is you should bring this information to the law enforcement agency.”

“They wouldn’t believe me.” Megatron dryly points out. “They would assume it’s the illusion of a war-thirsty criminal who can’t let go of his past. Even if they did, they wouldn’t help me.”

“Because you are a civilian now.” Optimus points out in return, “Honestly, I find it hard to believe myself. You have been away for seven hundred vorns and the first thing you bring up when you pop back to the planet, is that you want to interfere with the planet’s political procedures.”

“Cut it out, Prime.” Megatron says, “You believe me.”

“Maybe I do.” Optimus says, “But I’m just a gardener working at the central park.”

“Last time I check, being a gardener doesn’t raise moral questions interacting with a revolutionist from the other faction as being a Prime would.” Megatron adds, “Didn’t stop you last time.”

“Why? Because our collaborations have always ended up being faithful and fruitful?”

“Well, we did get the Treaty settled, didn’t we?”

Optimus looks at him as if someone has just stabbed in the chasis and called it a game.

“Can we,” he spoke in a fast, low voice this time, the way he speaks when he’s running out of patience, “not pretend. As if we didn’t sign the Treaty with a _Hot Rod_ of mechs, holding a canon behind my back, and you being temporarily mind-controlled by your most trusted.”

“Hot Rod, who has fled the planet the same day we signed the Treaty. Someone to this day, I still haven’t met again. I can only hope that he’s still alive, instead of drowning himself in the guilt built on his right decision and my wrong ones.”

Then he adds, “And let’s not forget why Soundwave isn’t here, either.”

There is a long, silent pause before Megatron rises to his pedes.

“Point taken.” He says, brief and clear. And with that, he walks out of the habsuite, leaving the cube of unfinished Energon. In a klik’s time, it almost looks like his presence here was merely a vivid daydream.

Optimus thinks about throwing away the leftover Energon or pouring it back to the jar before he chooses to drink it up himself and throw the cube into the kitchen sink.

On the other side of the hacked line, Soundwave carefully stepped out from the connection. Frowning deeply to himself, he looks at the terminal in front of him, its screen now back to its blank state.

After a few kliks, he plugs himself back in once again and pulls out all the documents mentioning Hot Rod’s possible whereabouts, both during and after the war. Then Deadlock’s. He compares both datasets by searching for same key words, it returns with a few locations. He then marks these locations on a galaxy map hologram.

Though it is not obvious, since the two started from very different locations, but their routines might have crossed once when they were both heading in the direction of a certain planet. More interestingly, both mechs lost contact soon before they set out for the said planet.

Soundwave clicked that particular planet in the hologram and realises he has heard of the name before.

DK-27.

The Decepticons’ last triumph was won on the sandy soil of DK-27. The planet has been inhabited by two small Cybertronian colonists by the time they dropped by, one of which agreed to trade with the Decepticons. Their unexpected favour resolved the troops’ energy shortage to a great extent and led them to the winning side of the battle soon afterwards.

However, the situation was drastically changed when the other colony decided to side with the Autobots in fear of what may come next after the Decepticons’ victory. Unlike most leaders who claim their territory as neutral lands and their political views unbiased, the leaders of the DK-27 twin colonies were actually good at war games. After putting both factions in the dilemma, they became united and proceed to attack Decepticons and Autobots alike, in attempt to, as they claimed, “end the war once and for all”.

It was the point that they came to the horrifying realisation that they have become so hated that even their own people want them off the charts. But however it looked like a necessity to unite at the time, Optimus refused to fight back with Megatron.

“The war isn’t about this.” The Prime had argued.

“The war has always been about the survival.” Megatron had said in return, “And we will fight to survive.”

“And maybe when we do, so will you.”

Megatron left with the rest of the Decepticons while they stayed put. Being the wayward young mech he is, Hot Rod was devastated by the whole situation.

“Listen, Optimus,” He had said, “I know this is the wrong decision to make and the wrongest thing to do. But what is a leader if he lets his men die on his watch?”

He gathered a squad of mechs that day and joined force with the Decepticons. His action was not taken kindly even after he returned, until he simply ran away for good. The Decepticons became markedly outnumbered after the destruction of the colonists. Prowl had subsequently begged him to seize this opportunity and order an immediate attack.

It all went downhill from there.

Optimus wakes up to a call from Ratchet.

:Do you want to meet him first or do you want me to take him to the registration desk:

Optimus tries to fight off the feeling of a dry mouth.

:What do you mean.:

:That wayward kid from Luna-3:


	4. Chapter 4

Optimus has to make time for the visit during his lunch break, by not having lunch. Usually Ratchet won’t be happy with his decisions against general health protocols. But he has a feeling there is something more than a rogue outcast to Deadlock’s story.

Megatron has never been the one who make the right decisions, but he has hardly ever been completely wrong about anything, either.

Ratchet didn’t hesitate to show him into the hidden quarters below the storage room of the hospital when he shows up and what Optimus finds there, sitting in the dark is a young speedster with white frame, smooth curves, sharp edges, plating radiating heat and vents constantly clutching in a passionate way. This Deadlock mech reminds him of Hot Rod in more than one way, especially with the way he looks up to him with hopeful eyes.

“Are you Optimus Prime?” He asks.

The question sends Optimus frowning in confusion. He has checked his file last night, Deadlock had his rank high up on the list of the handful who were trusted by Megatron himself. It is hardly possible that he’s never met Optimus before. Unlike many others, Optimus has never reformatted during the past hundreds of vorns.

“You see what I mean here?” Ratchet whispers in concerned, “Whatever he got himself overdosed with, its main purpose is to cause memory loss.”

Deadlock pays no attention to what the medic has to say to his condition. His red optics are focused on Optimus like a beast on its prey. That is an expression Optimus can recognise, that is what a Decepticon looks like when he wants something from him, something that’s not mutually beneficial.

“You have travelled a long way here to see me.” Very carefully, Optimus states his own prediction, and is relieved when the other didn’t object to his statement. “You may need to tell me what for, Deadlock.”

“The name is Drift.”

Ratchet simply turns away this time, giving neither of them a glimpse of the expression on his face.

“OK, Drift.” Optimus kneels down in front of the young speedster, lowering his face to the other’s optics level, “Tell me, what is the last thing you remember?”

“I met,” The ex-Decepticon stutters, “I think I met Megatron on my way. He promised me he would take me to you. I didn’t expect it to be true.”

“And why do you want to see me?”

“Someone has asked me to send a message to you.” The speedster stuttered again, looking unable to recall what he has to say, “I, I promised him I’d make it to Cybertron at all cost. But…I don’t remember who.”

He pauses, pinching his forehead in frustration, fingers clenching hard, trembling.

“And I, I think I forgot the message, too. I’m not supposed to…”

Seeing his distress, Optimus reaches for his shoulders to offer some comfort. When Ratchet tries to stop him, it is already too late. The speedster pulled a giant sword out of nowhere and swings the blade right at the Prime.

Even though Optimus activated his combat protocol fast, the speedster is faster as he’s designed to be. Energon is spilling out from the long cut across his whole chest caused by the tip of the blade all the way up to his right shoulder.

Deadlock, or Drift, is as stunned as Optimus is when he realises what he’s done. Dropping the sword he’s holding and retreats into the far corner of the room, he then proceeds to open the door to a nearby supply cabinet, jumps all the way in and locks the door from inside.

“That is..,” says Optimus as he wipes off the Energon on his own face in both horror and embarrassment.

“That is something I should have informed earlier.” Ratchet sighs. “He’s unstable.”

“The overdose?”

“Someone has drained his tank earlier, I assume it’s Megatron.” Ratchet comments, “From his medical record it’s been at least a week since the procedure. But here we are.”

“How about an antidote?”

“Still working on the formulation. Would have been much easier if we have a sample of what he took.” Ratchet adds, “I suspect it’s not just an overdose, but a long-term poisoning. If that’s the case, his memory may be false. What he is about to tell us, may not be completely true. Someone has taken time to alter his mind. I can’t imagine it’s been for his own good..”

“Has he spoken about anything last night?”

“He kept mentioning an Energon deal during his recharge.” Ratchet shook his helm, “But with Cybertron mainly relying on foreign planets for Energon these days, he needs to be more specific than that.”

He pauses and then adds.

“I don’t want to push him right now. It may sound strange, but I agree with Megatron on this one. He’s not to be released or registered before we can figure out what happened to him.”

“You seem to have taken a liking in him.” Optimus commented. “But I do agree.”

Ratchet offers a hand too drag him up from the floor and he took it. Back on his two pedes, Optimus looks down to his shattered chestplate.

“This is something needs explaining if I go out like this.”

“Good thing the Core Computer is glitching as of lately.” Ratchet pulls out a few datapads, “I can sneak into the hospital supply room to find something to patch you up without registration.”

“What is with the Core Computer recently.”

“The technician team is planning on an overwrite before the election.” Ratchet casually explained, “Another patch I assume. It’s been a long time. Long enough to have Megatron back on the streets and no one seems to notice.”

He then gazes at the cabinet in which Drift has locked himself, completely horrified by what’s going on outside.

“Am I the only one who find it ironic. These mechs, who have been standing tall as if nothing in the universe can make them fear during the darkest era of our species, then fall to their knees, hiding themselves in mud, locking themselves in cabinets, when the sun has finally risen once again. What do they have to fear?”

Optimus chose not to reply to this one.

Megatron walks into a bar that same night.

It’s almost like dropping a bomb right to the core. The instance he makes his entry, the bar drops silent.

When the bartender asks what he would like to drink tonight in between spitting static noises Megatron asks to see the owner of the premise.

However, instead of Swindle, two breems later, the mechs led Starscream to him instead.

“I didn’t ask for you.” Megatron growls angrily.

“Too bad I’m always all you get to have.” Starscream mutters bitterly. “And my suggestion is, leave.”

“Who’ asking?”

“Your senator.” Starscream announces, “And the next head of council.”

Megatron shot him a dirty look. “Are you? I heard you are not there yet.”

Starscream narrows his optics in surprise. “So you have heard a few things then.”

“Maybe I did.”

“Then you know I now outrank you.”

“Not in this bar you don’t,” Megatron laughs, “Because it’s private property and the owner is not you.”

“Didn’t take you for the one who knows law.”

“Haven’t we learned enough about this together, Starscream? Over and over again.” Says Megatron, “If there’ is something you want to destroy. First, you just need to know it well. And you know me well Starscream, you put lots of effort in it, yet all your efforts, your filthy attempts still lead you right here, right in front of me. I’d say, I know you better than you know me.”

With that, he throws his tips at the table and heads in the other direction, completely uninterested in Starscream’s business. However, before he can leave, Starscream takes him by the arm to stop him from going.

“Don’t assume you know me!” He screeches, “And you know nothing about anything, including what you are doing!”

Megatron shots him an indifferent look, “And just what I’m doing do you assume?”

“Whatever you think Swindle knows better than I do.” The seeker looks him directly in the optics, velvet glass burning familiar fires, he then added, “Whatever that makes you think Optimus Prime may know better than I ever will. And you are wrong. There is no such thing that they would know better than I do, not now.”

Megatron curiously inspects the face of his old SIC then asks.

“Be careful with your words, Starscream. If I hadn’t known you for four million years, I would say you’re trying to say you want to help.”

Starscream’s face burns with shame. His frame shaking, and his optics flashing, he looks like a turbofox just been kicked in the stomach.

“How dare you…” He begins.

“Tell Swindle he can’t hide from me forever.” Megatron cuts him out, “And hear my advice, don’t make Eergon deal with those even Swindle wouldn’t. You’d be surprised what they put in Cybertronian Energon out there. And keep this to your heart, Starscream, there’s nothing, not a string of scrap, in you, that you can interest me with, on this planet.”

But before he leaves for the door, he hears Starscream say.

“How about something about the Core Computer?”

He finds himself stopping in front of the exit. He can taste Starscream’s vengeful bitterness right from here. The seeker, now finally catching his attention, continues to speak with a twisted grin on his face.

“Do you want to know why it is glitching, Lord Megatron.”

Later the same night, Starscream sneaks into the control room with Megatron. He charms the guards to turn their optics away for a second and turns off the video monitor. It gives them 30 minutes inside the archives until the next patrol comes by.

“This is your file.” Starscream pulls an old record out of the archives. “Your file was among the first batch of documented Cybertronian residents in the new system. Soundwave filed this one himself before he left, self-exiled, deserted, or whatever you’d like to call what he did. It has never been updated ever since. Pretty strange isn’t it? No one knows you already have a file until yesterday.”

“Twenty cycles ago, a number of mechs received a reminder of your upcoming return. I checked, it’s the same mechs who were present at the Treaty party. As if it doesn’t feel ominous enough, almost at the same time, the Core begins to return with small errors every now and then. Nothing important, just annoying little things such as setting off alarm 5 minutes before it’s supposed to and mixing up signal lines. And whenever you go back to its history logs, you see no crushes.”

“It’s uncanny. Ghost in the shell.” Starscream mutters.

“Or just your vivid imagination.” Megatron points out. “I have heard the supercomputer has served a long time without a complete reboot.”

“Vivid?” Starscream murmurs, “Check this out.”

He quickly types in something and pulls out a history log.

“Yesterday I thought I’d do us both a favour and register you up myself then I found this.”

The screen displays the coding of that prankly countdown. It’s a simple one, but very efficient for the purpose of pure annoyance. That’s hardly the point, the point is this prankly little thing is a built-in software in the supercomputer’s chronometer.

Megatron took an in-vent, covering up the shock on his face as soon as possible.

“So what, someone feels like pranking. Someone among the technicians or a hacker out there. What’s so special about it? You think your system is unbreachable?”

“Don’t play dumb on me, Megatron.” Starscream warned, “We both know this ‘computer’ is unbreachable! I was there, remember? I was there that day when you signed the Treaty, I went into all the dirty details with you and Prime. I know what the “Core” computer really is.”

He takes a deep in-vent and announces.

“The core of the supercomputer is the Matrix of Leadership. It was what stopped you from breaking the Treaty the moment you snapped out of the mind-control. Optimus hasn’t been carrying the magic gear for hundreds of vorns by now and not many are aware of this. That magic stick they used to worship is a computer now, this computer. And that, is why it should be unbreachable. No one, absolutely no one, should be able to program on its core coding. Something is wrong here, either someone so powerful and unstoppable when it comes to breaking ancient godly codes, or something wrong from the right beginning during the initial design stage of the Core.”

“There is a traitor among us.” Starscream accuses.

Hearing the steps of the patrol team approaching, Megatron quickly covers his mouth and hide the both of them under the table. The seeker shifts uncomfortably in his arms. When the patrol team has left, he let go of the seeker.

“You leave this to me.” Megatron says.

Starscream obviously disagree, “Why, because you think you can handle what all of us couldn’t all those vorns ago?”

“No.” Megatron says, “Because you have better things to do, senator.”

Starscream looks stunned, his mouth quickly curves into an unreadable flat line.

“We need to,” He announced, then quickly corrected himself, “you need to find Soundwave. If someone knows how to dig up that kind of information from a supercomputer like this, it should be him.”

Something in Megatron’s expression tells Starscream he isn’t telling him everything he know.

“Megatron!” He demands.

“I thought Soundwave was on Cybertron.” The ex-warlord claims.

“He isn’t.” says Starscream, “If he is, you’d have met him by now. If not for the fact no one has ever heard from him for 700 vorns by now, I would think it was him who programmed that annoying Megatron countdown.”

Megatron clenched his fingers, dimming his optics, he emphasises his order.

“Stay out of it.”

He shoves Starscream away.

Sitting on top of the signal tower, Soundwave watches Megatron as he leaves the building. He’s tempted to follow him further, the furthest he can go until he can’t anymore. However, as a ghost being trapped in the Core’s base programming for 700 vorns by now, Soundwave has never been able to make it out of the council hall.

After considering a few possibilities, he decides to take the risk and sends in an anonymous message to Megatron with an encrypted coordinates of Swindle’s home address.

On second thought, he changed the sender’s signature to Starscream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is supposed to be funny. It's the furthest from funny now.  
> Anyway, hope it's still enjoyable.


	5. Chapter 5

Swindle was deep in recharge when someone yanked him out of his dream and smashed him to the nearest wall like a toy.

He wakes up finding himself choking on his own spit because Megatron’s fingers are clutching on his throat so hard the intake pipe collapses.

“You will answer my questions.” Megatron claims.

Swindle nods like a cooling fan.

“You bought a batch of cheap Energon from Turmoil last solar cycle.” The ex-warlod says, “You didn’t sell it. Why?”

“How,” Swindle chokes, “How did you”

“Answer my question.” Megatron pointed a gun at his processor.

“That’s my gun!” Swindle screams. “You can’t just walk into my room and threaten me with my own gun.”

“You have a workshop at Rania’s space station in Galaxy PBB7.”

Swindle’s drops his overdramatic reaction immediately.

“Pit,” The merchant spits, “Don’t tell the enforcers about that workshop I won’t tell a spark of your visit tonight.”

“Oh,” Megatron knocks his helm with the gun barrel, a wide grin on his face, “you think I’ll be in more trouble than you once the news is spilt?”

“Okay, okay, point taken.” Swindle begs, “I did buy some Energon from Turmoil a while ago. Some mechs do that, bring in good fuel out of nowhere and ask for cash, no question asked. That’s the rule. But that deal was a troll. Something was wrong with the fuel.”

“What makes you say so.”

“I didn’t figure it out.” Swindle admits, “Of course we ran a test for safety reasons before we hand out our cash. You don’t need to be in the market for long to know anything cheap comes with a price somewhere else. But his fuel? Pure as new.”

“Then why did you cancel the deal?”

“Once those fuels were dispatched to a few of my lowest oil bars, we got complains!” says Swindle with a pitiful tone, “About the taste.”

“What about the taste?”

“It tastes different from normal Energon. Not so obvious at first sip but it gets worse the more you consume. We tried every test at hand and nothing comes up. Every result we received says it’s pure Energon but it just tastes different.” Swindle says, “We never figured out why.”

Their conversation is stopped by a big bang at the front door, and loud police siren outside the house.

“It’s not me!” Swindle swears, “Pit, did you trigger my security system? You’re the clumsiest thief I’ve ever met in my life!”

The last thing Optimus expects from his life is getting a call in the middle of the night and being politely asked by a local enforcer if he can come and bail Megatron out of his brig.

“We cannot press charge since the owner of the property insisted that he is merely visiting his house.” The officer explains, “he insists he invited Megatron into his house.”

“Then I don’t see why he’s in the brig.” Optimus asks.

“He entered the premise by smashing the door.” The officer explains calmly.

“Why are you contacting me?”

“You are registered as his emergency contact.”

“I don’t remember consenting to that.”

“Then you may have to file a complaint to the civil affairs.”

When Optimus arrives, Megatron is sitting in a brig too small for his size, looking miserable. He follows Optimus out of the brig, into the empty streets of Iacon outside almost obediently. The city is still recharging but they are not.

Whey they are far away enough from the police station the former Prime stops walking.

“Why am I registered as your kin?” He asks.

“Don’t know.” Megatron looks away, “My file is as old as yours. And I didn’t write my own file.”

“Is that so,” Optimus’ face is completely blank, “then it got my home line frequency disturbingly accurate. Am I just that predictable, someone can write down my home frequency before I even have one.”

“Don’t know, maybe you just are.” Megatron hums, “But according to Starscream, there is some sort of ghost haunting the computer system doing me small favours.”

“Are you drunk, Megatron?”

“Or maybe it’s just Soundwave.” Megatron laughs, “He likes that kind of thing.”

“Soundwave isn’t here, Megatron.” Optimus says.

“Maybe he is.”

“He left and he hasn’t returned.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” He asks, “Because Hot Rod never did?”

Optimus stars at him for a moment too long.

“We fought each other for four million years.” He says, voice suddenly low, “We fought each other with this one though in our mind, that only one of us will make it out alive or more likely, neither. But to everyone’s dismay, we both made it. Then after 700 vorns of radio silence, when you are about to drop by, people begin to send me notices about your status like you are something I subscribed to. And the moment you step on this planet, everyone begins to assume we are friends, acting like we should watch out for each other.”

“And you.” He points at the silver chest with one tired finger, “You act like you agree with them.”

“Why not?” Megatron asks. “Isn’t it what you’ve always wanted, us, becoming friends with each other? Or is it because the peace is at hand now, you don’t anymore see our friendship as a necessity.”

“You never cease to twist my words out of my own mouth.” Optimus turns to look at the empty streets ahead of them.

“As my very own way of showing affection.”

“Stop.” Optimus warns, his voice tight and his mouth feeling dry. “Just, don’t.”

To his surprise, Megatron stops talking as he is asked. They walk in silence for some more time. Along streets, they are met with some night duty mechs on their way home after work. The mechs waved morning to them, Megatron waved back, but Optimus didn’t. It takes the former Prime a long time to ask.

“Why are you still following me.”

“I have no place to call my own on this planet. You are sheltering me.” Megatron says. “That’s what old friends do for each other.”

“We’ve been old, but not friends, Megatron.”

“But you will take me home.” Megatron says. “You know you will.”

Slowly, Optimus says.

“Sure.”

Ratchet spends the night sitting in front of that locked cabinet.

He can tell when the other is out of it and when he is actually awake. It also appears the ex-Decepticon in there has even better hearing than his. Every time he tries to approach the cabinet, the cabinet stirs, its metal doors mumble like the rotor of an old machine. Deciding he probably won’t like what the other has in mind if he opens the door by force, after a while the medic stops trying.

But he still talks to the other.

“Considering what happened last afternoon and we are still not sending you out,” He says, “you should have come to the conclusion we mean no harm to you by now.”

When he is lining up the cubes of energon and other diluted formulations he considers necessary for the speedster’s treatment like a holy offering right in front of that cabinet, he hears the other one finally talks back to him once.

“But I’m not safe.” The Decepticon says, “To you, to anyone.”

“Talk too big for a bot your size,” the medic says, “I dealt with both Megatron and Optimus Prime yesterday, didn’t I? You think you’re better than those two?”

He gets no answer. The wrong string to pull, maybe.

“OK,” Ratchet sighs, “Listen up, kid. There is someone out there who trusts you enough to have you travel half the universe here and you trust that someone to do this for him, been to the pit and up kicking. I’d say you are pretty trustworthy.”

He got no more response after that. When morning comes, Ratchet has to stop embarrassing himself with on-sided conversations, leave the hidden quarters and attend to his morning duties. It appears the world outside Drift’s room isn’t merry, either. The emergency room is occupied, and First Aid is at the reception, reading datapads with a black eye.

“Primus, kid, what happened to you?”

“A patient gone wild during examination.” The young medic sighs deeply, “ex-Autobot, had a flashback and thought he was being attacked during the war or something. He apologised later.”

“What did he get into his system?”

“Energon.” First Aid points at the occupied emergency room, “Too much of it, apparently. By the way we just had another outbreak.”

“Overcharging?”

“Something like that.” First Aid points to the waiting queue. “The way mechs overcharge to oblivion these days makes me wonder if they changed the formulation of energon.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Ratchet pats him on the shoulder, “Leave this to me and go get yourself some morning fuel. If you show up being overcharged by your breakfast as well then let’s file a complaint to Primus this afternoon.”

Ratchet returns to Drift’s quarter once again during lunch break, he finds one of the cubes he placed in front of the cabinet now half empty. Before he can pick up that one particular cube to examine it, a blade appears in front of his throat, and a frame emerges from the shadow behind him.

“What did you put in the energon?” The Decepticon demands.

“Nothing.” The medic says.

“It doesn’t taste right.” Drift says, pressing his blade into the other’s energon line for an answer.

“Might be your own processor deceiving your sensors.”

To answer his question, Ratchet just takes the cube and drinks it up in one go. Drift carefully examines at the now empty cube, then releases the medic from his grip.

He picks up one of the other cubes on the floor, and hesitantly takes one sip.

“This isn’t how I remember it tastes like.” The speedster mutters.

“Give it one or two cycle your symptoms will likely be settled.” The medic suggests.

“I need to see Megatron.” The ex-Decepticon announces.

Putting down the empty cube, the medic frowns in annoyance. “Optimus yesterday now the big bot. You gotta pick a side, kid.”

“I heard the war is over.”

“Yeah.” Says Ratchet dryly. “But you are still a deserter.”

“I had my reasons.” The ex-Decepticon argues, “I just, can’t remember though.”

“Someone special?” The medic asks sarcastically. “Someone important for a dangerous swordsmech like yourself?”

Drift flinches at the word “dangerous”. He quickly turns to see the medic, velvet optics meet blue eyes. Ratchet quickly looks away.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, “you said it yourself yesterday.”

“Yeah.” Drift nods, “yeah I did.”

He then drinks up the cube in his hand in one go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Optimus just takes Megatron home like he's a lost puppet or something.  
> I just thought since Soundwave is pretty much a shared computer in most continuities, why don't I write a fic in which he's officially a computer.


	6. Chapter 6

Ratchet cannot convey how annoyed he feels when he called the Prime about finding Megatron and was told Megatron has been sleeping on his couch.

“What? You adopting him now?” The medic says.

“He checked himself in.” Optimus calmly explains, “I figured it’s too much trouble if I say no.”

“A bot like him takes a lot of space to keep.”

“If I leave him out there.” Optimus argues, “Every time he messes something or someone up they come banging at my door. So why not, he already says he will leave Cybertron before the election.”

“Alright,” Ratchets says, not wanting any piece of this nonsense, “you keep telling yourself that.”

They set up a quiet place for the two of them to meet, they don’t want anyone to know about Drift’s location yet. To Ratchet’s surprise, Megatron knows more about hallucinogens than he’d expected, and even conveniently offers him a sample of Drift’s purged oil for examination.

“You should have given me this in the first place.” Ratchet says.

“I didn’t know if you can be trusted with this.” Megatron explains.

Ratchet chooses not to argue on this one, merely stuffing the glass vial into his subspace.

“How’s his memory doing?” Megatron asks. “Any recovery?”

“I’m going to be perfectly honest with you,” Ratchet says, “I don’t believe his memory is coming back anytime soon. I’ve seen some memory loss in my life and a fair share of processor-damage cases, but his is strange.”

“Explain.”

Ratchet shots him an annoyed look.

“He recognised you, didn’t he? That means his memory is at least partially intact, particularly the files from the war time. But no, he’s unfamiliar with the face of Optimus, unfamiliar the concept of the Treaty, too. Though he keeps mentioning someone important to him that he met after he deserted, he doesn’t remember a single string about who and how. So, let’s say, his memory is somewhat stuck in the early stage of the wartime.”

“What about before the war?” Megatron points out.

“Well, seeing that he doesn’t recognise me at all I’d say he’s as clueless about his pre-war life as he’ is about his post-war life.”

For a moment, Megatron looks shocked. “You know him?”

“No, I’m talking about some other Drift.” Ratchet glares at him, “Of course I know him! The rate that Primus-damned army of yours picking up young mechs from the street back in Rodion, I probably know half of your killer squad at some particular point! And I thought since the war’s done for, I needn’t be put into one more embarrassing situation where I have to deal with a broken young Decepticon that I put together before the pit broke loose, but here we go.”

The medic finishes his sentence with a low growl.

“But yeah, after what everyone’s been through, he still remembers you, not some medic who patched him up after he can die from an overdose. I guess that’s saying a lot.”

“Huh.” Was all that Megatron has to say.

“Huh?” Ratchet mocks, “If you have something to add, spill. We come here to talk, so let’s be thorough so we don’t need to talk again.”

“Nothing.” Megatron lies, “I just figured, I agree, his memory loss is oddly specific. I’m no expert but I’ve heard most memory loss caused by consumption of neuromeds will lead you to the best part of your functioning, not the other way round.”

It almost hits Ratchet that Megatron is trying to offer comfort. Almost.

“Well, hate to break the news to you,” Ratchet hums a sour hum, “but not these days. Lots of overcharged mechs have flashbacks of the wartime. Maybe that’s just how processor works now.”

“Never thought I’d hear an Autobot say mechs can crave for violence out of pure instinct.”

Ratchet raised his optic and glares at his rare guest.

“I’m here talking with you to see if I _want_ to let you see him. And so far, I’d say you are not doing a great job convincing me.”

Megatron states at him silently for a few kliks, then he took something out of his subspace, another small glass bottle.

“What is this?” The medic demands.

“Something I’d like you run tests on.” He says, “I got this from an acquaintance recently and he and I both agree someone professional should take a look.”

“Does it have anything to do with the poor merchant you threatened last night?”

“Optimus told you that?” says Megatron as he pushes the bottle into Ratchet’s hand, “Anyway, take a look, and as for Drift’s opinion see if it rings a bell. Let me know your results and I’ll let you know mine.”

“Why don’t you ask Drift about this yourself?” Ratchet asks. “Seeing you’re standing at his door.”

“Here I thought I’m not impressive enough for the guard dog.”

“Never stopped you before.”

“True.” Megatron agrees, “But seeing you are still in one piece after living with him for two days, I’d say he’s better off with you instead of myself.”

“Huh.” Ratchet says.

He let Megatron talk to Drift for about a joor’s time and Megatron spends the whole time trying to dig the story of Flip Flare out of Drift’s ravaged processor. And to his surprise,

“You said you are on the run from a planet in his possession.” Megatron says.

“Yes.” Drift confirms, trying to hold a headache as good as he can.

“Then what do you mean he’s not a bad guy?”

“Because he just isn’t.” Drift raises his voice, “He’s in a powerful position, yes. He runs a planet, probably. He also has influence on a few others, maybe. But he’s a good guy. Not every empowered individual ends up as a greedy power-hungry monster like you, Megatron.”

“Then do you want to explain what happened to GTooxo71?”

“That was an accident. This much I remember.”

“An accident that caused vast poisoning across the whole planet, causing the death of 56% of their mechanical population.”

“Still not his fault.“ Drift insists.

“Then someone has to be responsible.” Megatron emphasises, “Was there a riot, a mayhem, mutiny, change-of-command kind of event that you can recall?”

“I,” Drifts stutters, “I’m not sure.”

“What is his real name?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know who he is and you are sure he is a good guy.”

“Well, yes.” Drift declares, “and even if I do, I won’t tell you. Because I’m aware of your foul intentions. You want to stop him from coming to Cybertron.”

“Half the GT galaxy system is on his aft.” Megatron points out, “If he claims a position on Cybertron, this is doing none of us any good.”

“Since when do you care about doing good.” Drift spits, “As far as I know he can be a Cybertronian trying to help his own kind out there for the last hundreds of vorns. And now he’s out there and he’s in trouble. What if he is good and truthful, and he needs help, and you, you are here, and you turn him down!”

Ratchet greets the ex-warlord at the door.

“I see it didn’t go well for you, either.” The medic comments.

“I didn’t expect it to be.” Megatron says, “I need a favour from you, though.”

“Do tell.”

“I want to take a look at your monitor’s recording.” Megatron says, “Just to make sure they won’t catch me anywhere.”

Ratchet didn’t object to it, they need to be cautious for Drift’s safety, after all. They end up checking all the cameras in the monitor room. And it seems like they’ve done a good job avoiding all the cameras.

However, the expression on Megatron’s face when he sees all the readings indicates he isn’t completely happy about what he finds. He looks thrilled, but at the same time, also deadly furious. Ratchet chooses not to ask and shows him to the door.

On his way to Optimus’ place, Megatron keeps thinking about what he heard and saw today. Apparently Drift is fascinated by this Flip Flare mech, though he doesn’t remember much about what happened back in the GT galaxy. It strikes him that Drift’s principle these days is very close to the old Autobot propaganda. Pethaps Flip Flare was an Autobot, even a high-ranking one. And if that’s true, he must have been a Decepticon sympathiser if he chose to aid Deadlock back then and develops their relationship to the very stage in which Drift would side with him after what happened back on GTooxo71 and with a memory loss.

However, none of this is comparable to his other discovery today. He has purposely walked past a camera outside Ratchet’s quarters, to allow himself to be filmed in order to test his theory. And it turns out Starscream was right, there is a ghost in the computer system doing small favours for him. Someone has wiped out his footage during his short stay in the hidden quarters.

“Soundwave,” he whispers, “if you are out there somewhere. If you can hear me talking, come out, stop hiding. We need to talk.”

He waited for a few kliks, he wasn’t given the answer he wanted. Everything is quiet and peaceful around him, there are mechs running in the street in their alt-modes, there are mechs walking by in their root-mode. There are monitor cameras, there are radios and monitors around, and there are computer terminals, lots of them. But there is no sign of Soundwave.

“Please.” The ex-warlord whispered.

One of the televisions in joint screen installed by the nearest shopping mall glitched. It temporarily breaks away from its usual display of furniture advertisement, and jumps to the kitchen ware ad for a klik’s time. A snapshot of a flame from a burning furnace, with bright red body and a tip of yellow. Those colours remind Megatron of Optimus in his younger days, but the truck-former has never really been passionately young. He has always been the low-key kind of leader, so sure about himself and his ideals that he doesn’t find it necessary to address himself, so different from the other one. The loud one, the burning one.

The one who had red plating with flaming yellow paint, the one that liked meteor surfing, the one who disappeared with Soundwave.

The one who flips the flares.

When Optimus returns home from work he is slammed into his own door the moment he opened it.

Megatron holds him so close he can smell the gunpowder from his frame, and the way it’s burning from anger.

“What happened to Hot Rod.” He demands. “What _really_ happened to him?”

Optimus isn’t buying his anger.

“If only I know.” He says. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Don’t get yourself flattered. You don’t know what I have guessed.” Megatron isn’t buying his innocence either, “Tell me the truth. Why did he leave?”

“Megatron I don’t”

Megatron drags him by the collar all the way to the sofa and throws him into it without difficulty. The Prime lets him.

“If you’re going to tell me you told him to leave because he betrayed you,” his claws clenching on Optimus’ collar, “I’m not gonna believe you. You weren’t their favourite leader by the time we were reduced to a bunch of morons sitting at the meeting table. And knowing you, you probably have begged him to stay.”

To his surprise, Optimus let out a short laugh and asks in return.

“Only if you tell me why Soundwave left.” He says, “Because when we were reduced to a bunch of morons sitting at that meeting table, I remember how he shows up every day with more damage on his frame. And he refused to leave you even if I begged him to.”

“How did he leave, Megatron.” Optimus asks innocently, “With a frame damaged like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...Roddy isn't doing good out there. Soundy isn't doing good down here, either. Let's spill more beans in next chapter  
> BTW as you guys mentioned, Megatron really is a stray cat. Before you kow it, he's gonna be eating your food, drinking all your wine, breaking your very bed, smashing your sofa, shread all the cushions then yourself.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: violence

The particular question earns him a left hook right in the jaw. It is almost like he has been waiting for this moment to come ever since Megatron shows up and when it finally does, Optimus almost feels relieved by the pain. His short-lived relief hangs to the tip of his tongue as the sweet taste of his own energon bleeding into his throat. And when the second hit comes, he didn’t hesitate to catch Megatron’s fist with his palm.

After millions of years of fighting, Megatron is familiar with his body as if it’s his own. He stretches his fingers to catch Optimus’ palm in return as if he expects him to catch his fist in the first place.

“You don’t get to speak of it.” He tightens his fingers around Optimus’ hand and pulls him closer, “You don’t get to speak of him like that.”

“Why? Because it reminds you of your version of the truth?” Optimus says.

Before the other mech can respond, he grabs Megatron’s hand and throws him over the sofa, smashing his frame down to the floor and pinning him down with one hand.

“And you,” the Prime says, “don’t get to talk to me like this in my house.”

His hospitality is greeted with Megatron’s iron fist attempting to knock into one of his audial fins. He grabs his fist right in time but it turns out to be a trap. The ex-warlord proceeds to hit his head with his own forehead, sending both of them into a few kliks of blue screen. However, Megatron recovers faster than him and manages to turn the table by dragging the Prime down to the floor. Optimus seizes his shoulder before he can get up when he’s still shaken with dizziness. Their frames collide and their limbs crumple into a tangled mess on the floor.

In that split klik of silence, there comes a knock at the door.

“Mr. Prime, are you ok?”

Megatron was going right for the neck cable when he realises Optimus is panicking.

“I, uh,” The Prime stutters terribly, “It’s…I’m OK. It’s just”

Then he can’t come up with a decent lie.

“Tell him you adopted a mechanimal.” Megatron suggests, “Taking care of it for a friend.”

“I’m just chasing after a cyber-cat.” Optimus willingly plays along. “He’s just uneased because of the sudden change of environment.”

There comes a chuckle from outside.

“Yeah, they usually are.”

When the annoying neighbour of theirs finally left, Optimus’ entire frame loosens up. Somehow composing a lie from scratch takes more energy from him than fighting with Megatron. However, he’s still very much in a panic. The rush of energon through his veins and the beat of engines drive him to a high from where he can hardly get down so quick. Perhaps out of pity, Megatron gives him a hand to let him up. When he’s seated back into that ruined couch, Megatron finds brewed energon wine in his cabinet with little difficulty and pours him one. Optimus poses no protest when he accepts the cube, but the first thing that pops out of Optimus’ mouth as soon as he finishes that cube is an accusation.

“You should not find my place so comfortable.”

“I’m comfortable wherever you are not.”

Optimus pushes the cube onto the table, shaking his head. “Remind me again why should I let you live here.”

Megatron pours a full cube of energon, and before Optimus grabs it, he takes it for himself. After a long sip, the ex-Decepticon seems satiated. He once again turns his optics to the Prime.

“You’d better talk before you neighbour comes back with more questions.”

“I believe you will be the one in trouble if his more questions get answered.”

“I don’t mind trouble.” Megatron reminds him, “Never have been and never will. You however, disapprove of my kind of trouble with a passion, trying to stop me every single time. But I think your moves are getting slow, Prime.”

“I’m a gardener now, Megatron. Gardeners don’t do moves. They do flowers.”

“Do I look like a flower to you?”

“No,” Optimus replies in that calm, serious, authoritative voice of his that he used to instruct his men, “and I don’t intend to spend the rest of my life with you like I do with the crystal flowers.”

“Some dedicated gentlemech you are.” Megatron finishes his cube and throws the glass onto the table. They stay in silence for a while, neither of them wants to initiate a talk. Finally, Megatron breaks the silence.

“You don’t know where Hot Rod went, and you never tried to look for him.” He says, “I can see you still care. But so far, no one has tried to track him down. That’s odd. Almost as odd as my continued existence.”

“There is an official reason for your continued existence.” Optimus says. “We had an agreement. If you die, the truce is over.”

“Yes.” Megatron agrees, “Thought to myself countless times too, whenever I was so close to self-deactivate my own existence under numerous circumstances over the past 700 vorns.”

Optimus frowns, he wants to push into that statement, asking him what those circumstances were but eventually he didn’t. It will be too intimate, too inappropriate, and probably not the right time, either.

Because now Megatron has questions, and he goes right for the core.

“My meeting with Drift turns out to be more than fruitful and with an unexpected helping hand, I have uncovered the truth behind some thoughts that have been troubling my processor for a long time. On my way back from the hospital, I kept wondering, what could be the reason behind Hot Rod’s defection,” He says, “After such a long time I still remember the terms, or at least the most controversial ones we agreed and disagreed with.”

“Term 3, soldiers and low-to-middle-class commanders from both sides will not be held responsible for events during the war time but can be individually quested for trials if representatives from the joint government deems it necessary after a vote.”

“Term 4, high commands from both sides will remain in contact at all time during the establishment of the joint government, all of whom will be guaranteed nomination for the first three rounds of elections and under no circumstances will be presented to any trials until the constitution of the new government has been announced.”

Optimus continues his unfinished recitation without difficulty.

“Term 11, with terms 1-10 being fulfilled, unauthorised violence between factions will not be tolerated. Breach of the truce will be charged as treason and participators taken into custody.”

“Term 12, definition of crossfire, unauthorised violence with Class 2 weapon engaged, and the number of participants exceeding 20. If actions not taken within 3 joors after the crossfire, consider the truce is over.”

Megatron continues, words emphasising facts.

“Term 13, alternative definition of crossfire. If one or more high rank commanders of either side is engaged in a fight involving Class 1 weapon with a group of over 5 additional mechs, the action is considered as crossfire. No reaction time, truce is over.”

“Term 13b, additionally, the term also applies to same-faction commanders.”

“Term 17,” Optimus adds, “If a member of high command fails to report to the joint command centre within the range defined in Term 15, he will be removed from the Treaty and considered as a deserter. Terms 1-10 will no longer apply.”

Megatron raises his voice.

“Term 17b, 17a does not apply to any member currently under investigation, probation, waiting for trial, or carrying Cybertronian artefact, such as the Matrix of Leadership. See Term 2.”

His optics are now focused on Optimus. He continues to speak.

“Term 2, the Matrix of Leadership is to be removed from its Cybertronian host and used to benefit the majority of the society, instead of any selected Cybertronian individuals also known as the Primes.”

Optimus doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t even blink at this statement.

“Are you seriously suggesting Hot Rod was a traitor and breached the Treaty he helped to create.”

“All I’m saying is I don’t see why none of the Autobots, especially you, see his defection as a potential threat. It’s almost like it’s planned.”

“Mind if I remind you of Term 1.” Optimus states, “Term 1, supreme commanders of both sides will, and must remain functional for at least 100 vorns after the Treaty has been agreed to and signed. However, neither will be nominated for the first round of elections or given the rights to vote for the next 5. The only acceptable positions will be, one, First Consultant, under the supervision of the other faction’s senator, two, High Protector, without political rights and answers to the new Council, three, becoming non-affiliated individuals, citizenship is guaranteed under supervision, or alternatively, freedom is guaranteed if departed from Cybertron, but re-entry to Cybertron will not be allowed the next 700 vorns, counting from the day of departure.”

“You made your choice,” Optimus says, “I made mine. The moment we both signed on that datapad, we no longer possessed the power to chase anyone down.”

“Could have fooled me.” Megatron says, “Maybe you didn’t. But Prowl still did. He petitioned for the first round of election and succeeded. And as far as I know, he’s a mech of cautions.”

Optimus is silent for a long moment before saying.

“Could have said the same thing about Soundwave. I’m sure some of you commanders were fond of his disappearance as well. He was the walking talking information hard drive of your army. And while Hot Rod was gone the same day we signed the treaty, Soundwave stayed longer than that.”

Megatron looks away, optics drifting to the empty cube on the table.

“That’s different.”

“Different how?”

“I asked him to leave.” Megatron says.

Optimus is taken a back in surprise.

“I told him to leave.” Megatron admits, optics now focused on the table, “I told him if he stays in my sight any longer, I might end up killing him or order him killed for what he did. And he left. I told others to stand down and that’s it. That’s the story you asked for.”

Optimus is once again silent. After a while, he hesitantly asks, voice ever so small.

“Will you attempt to kill me on sight, if I tell you a story you don’t quite like.”

Megatron simply says, “I’m afraid you and I both already have a few theories in mind at this point, otherwise we wouldn’t be shouting those damned terms at each other. A punch or two depends on the story, but I promise I won’t go further than that.”

The ex-Prime nods to himself understandingly, “I’ll give you three.”

“Now you are just making me more nervous.”

“Let’s wait and see.” The ex-Prime says. After a long sigh, he finally let out the truth, “Hot Rod left with the Matrix.”

Megatron is almost relieved to hear his theory confirmed. At least, he is no longer bargaining in the dark. Then his entire frame tenses up when he hears the next sentence popping out of the ex-Prime’s mouth.

“He was chosen by the Matrix the day he left.”

That empty cube is swept to the floor where it shattered into pieces. Megatron’s fists are trembling on the still shaking table.

“How dare you?” His voice is full of rage.

“There was an ambush.” Optimus, ever the calm one, merely explains matter-of-factly, “On our way to the meeting, our troops were ambushed near the Rhonietrax crate. I took a shot to the chest during the fight. I was sedated for a surgery right afterward, during which the Matrix was temporarily removed for examinations. And when I woke up, Hot Rod was trying to take it from me.”

“He intended to threaten you with the safety of the Matrix?”

“I wouldn’t have agreed to negotiate with you if I knew you were under mind-control.” Optimus says, “But I was bound to find out soon as the meeting begins. He and Soundwave already had a deal.”

“So it wasn’t an ambush.” Megatron states, “It was planned.”

“Possibly.” Optimus admits, shaking the though off his processor, he continues, “But I woke up earlier than usual. We had to settle the problem with a fight.”

“Don’t tell me you lost.”

“I didn’t.” Optimus looks away, like he’s ashamed of himself, “But he wouldn’t give up either. He pushed the Matrix all the way into himself because he knew I wouldn’t try and ravage his internals. Then out of our surprise, they forged. He managed to open the Matrix and it forged itself into his frame, right next to his spark chamber. He became a Prime.”

“That’s why.” Optimus says, “The whole Treaty was built on the assumption I was the last Prime and a host of the Matrix. Everything, every detail of it needs to be rewritten if the news is spilt, and Soundwave wouldn’t be able to hold it.”

“That’s why he had to run.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kinda, trapped in a country I didn't plan to be right now because of obvious reasons. Between writing for fun and writing for money in my home language I write English fics to vent.  
> Megatron the stray cat: confirmed!   
> tbh everyone in this fic is a stray cat, sorta.


	8. Chapter 8

Megatron spent the rest of the night lying in the couch in the living room in Optimus’ habsuite staring at the ceiling. Optimus’ ceiling has neither decorations nor chandelier. It’s painted plain white without even a light bulb attached to it. The ex-Prime had several small lamps installed on the wall, lining up the hallway as if he would need guidance finding the way in his own house. But this design provides fetter lighting when you are reading on the couch, so he’s not complaining.

The fact that the Matrix forged itself to a young dedicated mech right before it’s cast out of the political centre of the society haunts Megatron’s spark like a ghost. It’s almost as if the Matrix _knew_ what was gonna happen if it stayed and between the future of their kind and its own survival, it chose the latter one. The irony in this story is hilarious. It’s almost like at the end of the day, even the holy artefact of Primus himself would choose survival over anything. So who are you to blame anyone who killed, destroyed and slaughtered during the war? And if you push it even further, is it really anyone’s place to blame those who find joy in the killing, because isn’t it what people used to say, better enjoy if one can’t run?

Is the Matrix proud of itself now? He doubts it.

Is Hot Rod proud of himself now? He doubts it even more.

Because he’s so damn sure Soundwave went as far as becoming ashamed of himself. Maybe Hot Rod did have to run, but Soundwave didn’t. Yet he did, he was so ashamed of himself he took off as he was told in shame. In the back of his processor, Megatron thinks Hot Rod was probably feeling the same when he escaped Cybertron. No wonder Optimus is such a wimp these days. Knowing Optimus, he probably thinks if he had gentler hands, things would have been different.

Then he starts counting the stains on Optimus’ ceiling again.

When Optimus wakes up the next morning, he finds Megatron making breakfast in his kitchen, befriending with all the ingredients he bought but never leant how to use.

“What are you waiting for?” Megatron says, dumping the apron to the nearest chair, “Come and make the table.”

Megatron’s cooking was, to his surprise, decent. Optimus has to fights back an urge to ask for another one when he finished the zirconium toast. Trying to distract himself from Megatron, he stares at the ceiling to count his favourite stains. Then he realises there’s none left.

“There is something wrong with the wall paint.” He comments.

“There is nothing wrong with your wall paint.” Megatron comments, “I checked the expiration date before use. It’s next month.”

Optimus nods inattentively. “So you painted my ceiling. May I know why.”

“You have too many stains.”

“Only 34 of them.” Optimus argues.

Megatron shot him a surprised look before dismissing his attention back to the datapad on the table, pretending to be reading more morning news.

“Hardly my point.” He mutters.

Optimus collets the plates and takes them to the kitchen sink. Turning on the tap, he finally let out what he’s been thinking all night.

“You should go see Shockwave.”

Megatron raises his optic.

“I mean,” Optimus slowly explains over the sound of solvent flowing, “If Starscream still thinks the Core is based on the Matrix, someone must have covered up the disappearance of the Matrix really good. I myself, for example, is a large part of the cover-up story. Ratchet did routine follow-up for me every month for years to dress “my recovery from the removal of the Matrix”. Prowl has been maintaining the supercomputer ever since he left the council after falling out the second election, and since Wheeljack was the Autobot designer assigned to the computer programming, Prowl must have informed him of a few things. But I can’t imagine Shockwave left his cooperation with Wheeljack knowing nothing about the truth.”

“You are saying he’s very suspicious because he’s quiet about it.”

“Yes and no.” Optimus says, “Have you checked where he is right now?”

“Not yet. I have simply assumed it wouldn’t be hard to locate him. He has always had that kind of attention.”

“Indeed,” Optimus agrees, “he’s been the focus of attention of many people for a long time. He has been in prison for the past 10 vorns.”

Megatron finished reading most of Shockwave’s criminal record on his way to the Iacon Prison. He scrolls up and down on the datapad sitting on the back of Optimus’ truck alt-mode, astonished by what his Head of Science has been doing through the 700 vorns he’s been away. Apparently Shockwave has been in and out of the prison for quite some time now, forever agonising the local police with a full category from trespassing to phone fraud, yet he still remains highly active in economic field even in his imprisoned state. It appears that Shockwave has been a genius investigator as well as inventor, profiting his own inventions has granted him vast amount of money. However, even if the mech is totally capable of bailing himself out of the jail half of the time, he frequents the Iacon prison religiously as if it’s his favourite vacation resort. All in all, Shockwave has taken the definition of mad scientist to a new level that no one asked for.

Megatron has initially refused Optimus offer to drive him here. However, three pages into Shockwave’s forever adding record, he agrees he probably need Optimus’ influence to get into Shockwave’s cell.

After talking with the warden, Optimus gives him the free pass.

“I’ll wait for you here.” The truck-former says.

“You’ll be late for work if you do.” Megatron points out.

Optimus looks a bit surprised when he mentions his job, but then he told him the flowers can wait a bit longer.

One of the enforcer guards Megatron to the cell. To say Megatron is surprised to see Shockwave’s rainbow choice of paint these days is quite an understatement. Shockwave on the other hand, is ecstatic to see him.

“Lord Megatron,” The one-eyed mech merrily greets, “I wasn’t expecting you to visit me this soon. You must have figured out a few things faster than I thought. Knowing you, you probably have a few more things in mind than I do. I cannot wait to share freely my opinions with you on the current situation.”

Megatron internally growls, trying his best to ignore Shockwave’s over-exaggerated rainbow-coloured chestplate. He has however, picked up the keyword. Unlike Starscream and everyone else he’s met on Cybertron so far, Shockwave appears to have faith in him. Though his faith is more than likely falsefully placed, he will be using this to his advantage.

“I’m afraid you have to elaborate on which ‘current’ situation you’d like to discuss,” Megatron deadpans, “I have quite a few at hand.”

“Of course.” Shockwave nods agreeingly, “I have been using different means to address my theory to the public, including graffiti and telephone advertisement, however, despite my effort, none of these approaches appear successful enough to cause any social reaction. My next more, as I have planned, will be creating 1 million accounts on Pwitter in order to make people aware of my theory. Lord Megatron, I would have to admit, your social skill to convince people with absolutely nothing but idealism has always been a talent in my dream.”

Megatron however, is less than interested in his dreams.

“If you have a political opinion,” He points out, “you could have nominated yourself. You were eligible.”

“So far I have engaged in 4 rounds of election and have failed all of them. It would appear my speeches were not appealing to the general public.”

“Or,” Megatron sighs deeply, “bring it to one of your more advocating colleagues such as Starscream.”

That one big optic of Shockwave quickly shapes itself into a ball of reluctance after hearing his suggestion.

“OK, I agree talking to Starscream has been less than ideal,” Megatron chooses not to argue, knowing that Shockwave has grown even more lunatic in the past few vorns. “Tell me your opinion on the ‘current situation’ you want to address and I’ll see what I can do for you.”

“Thank you, Lord Megatron.” Shockwave states, “I simply would like to make the public become aware of possible energon pollution in the near future. As you may have heard, the hotspots of Cybertron have stayed dry during the past vorns. I have long been suspicious that the core of our planet has been poisoned in the early stage of the war and it may proceed to pollute our harvested energon as well.”

Curiously, Megatron asks. “And in your theory, the Cybertronian energon would be polluted by?”

“I do not know.” Shockwave states, “And I’m uncertain about its possible effect, either. Perhaps when it finally happens, I would be able to test it in my lab.”

“How long is your current sentence by the way, Shockwave.”

“Quarter a vorn.” Shockwave states matter-of-factly, “However, I have my own way to leave the cell freely if I wish to. I’m at your service if my service is required.”

Megatron let out a short laugh, “My best guess is you have a bug installed in the Core supercomputer during its design stage and it allows you a bit more freedom than most Cybertronians, including letting you out whenever you like.”

“Excellent as always, my lord.” Shockwave compliments, “You guess is correct.”

“Do you have portal?”

Shockwave then proceeds to remove an attachment from his disabled gun hand. It’s a coin-sized humble device shaped like memory chip, something hard to notice in Shockwave’s current rainbow state. Perhaps his bold choice of modern paint has always been a distraction.

“I have a few of these installed both on my frame and in my lab.” Shockwave explains, “It can allow me to…”

Before he can finish the sentence, Megatron takes the chip away from him in a quick grab.

“Thank you, Shockwave. I have always wanted one of these.” the ex-warlord grins, “Your service is well-appreciated, as always. Now I’ll let you know when I need another one.”

“Lord Megatron!” Shockwave, though surprised, tries to explain to him calmly, “You won’t be able to leave with that. There will be footage, and you won’t be able to pass the security check.”

Megatron grins even wider. “You may watch me.”

Half a joor later, he left the prison without any difficulty. No camera has caught his little shenanigan and he passed through all the detectors without setting off one alarm. No guard has even raised an optic at him.

When he is walking toward the prison gate, Megatron murmurs a quiet thank you to his invisible helper.

“I wouldn’t be able to do this without you. Your help is well-appreciated, Soundwave.”

Soundwave, who has followed his lord all the way out from Shockwave’s cell, hacking every device on the way to ensure his escape, sends his oldest friend a disapproving look. But on the bright side, now that Megatron has a portable terminal device to the Core supercomputer, he’s free to follow Megatron everywhere he goes, again, just like the old days. It’s the best day ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone please adopt Shockwave.


	9. Chapter 9

When Optimus asks about his meeting with Shockwave, Megatron lied.

“It’s a shame,” he says, “Shockwave isn’t keen on doing me any favour these days. If only some of them are still easy like you.”

Optimus makes a small snorting sound, “I’m sure you will find someone willing to provide you with a shelter next time you drop by.”

“I hope you won’t be moving any time soon.”

“I just might.”

With all hints now pointing to energon supply, Megatron decides it’s the best time to get some insight information of the planet’s energy resources, most likely from someone within the political circle. As expected, his first call to his favourite informant didn’t end well. Starscream has announced in his best malevolent voice that he would have his secretary find a tiny bit of time in his very tightly packed schedule as soon as he thinks is possible, for a very brief meeting with Megatron, possibly in next 14 days, before he hang up. And when Megatron dialled his office frequency again, he was greeted by Skyfire who politely asked him where did he get Starscream’s frequency.

The arrogant friendly Autobots and their passive aggressive politeness.

But now that Megatron has a hacking portal to the Core computer, there is no way he won’t use it to his advantage. He then proceeds to fake an emergency meeting email and send it to Starscream. So despite Starscream’s vengeful mood, they met each other at a small café outside the Council Hall during lunch break.

“How did you…” the seeker begins, then cuts out himself abruptly, “never mind. I’m not sure I want to know.”

“Which means you already have some idea.” Megatron points out.

“Who do you think I am!” The seeker’s wings twitched in annoyance. “I’m the next Head of Council!”

“Next.” Megatron emphasises, “If you are not solving the energy shortage on this planet anytime soon, you won’t get anywhere near that position.”

“Some bold words from someone who barely stayed for a week.”

“Well,” Megatron smirks, “I might have been absent from your pleasant little party for a while but I’m in track with many, many others. Enough to know who the Cybertronians trade with these days and who are still off the list. And from what I’ve heard, someone is dealing with the off-the-list dealers recently to make ends meet.”

Starscream presses his lips together. He looks away from their table, optics focusing on the menu board behind the café’s counter in defeat.

“Or,” Megatron offers with a big grin on his face, “we can do it the old way. Trading information for another information, or for money, or even better, for some reliable source of fuel that you desperately need.”

It takes Starscream some time to response.

“I see Shockwave has passed on his contagious delusion to you already.”

“Glad to know you still care about my well beings, dear Air Commander.”

Starscream’s gaze quickly turns into a glare. When Megatron is almost certain that he will launch the old “I want nothing from you” lecture again, the fire in the seeker’s eyes suddenly distinguished, it quickly turns into something ashy and pale as he sits straight in his chair, adjusts the chair’s back to fit his wings.

“Alright,” he says, with a layer of calmness that Megatron has never seen him wearing, “I’ll trade information on Cybertron’s ongoing energon deals, with information on GT galaxy’s poisoning. Keep your ‘reliable source of fuel’ to yourself, Megatron. No one will agree to trade once they found out you were the go-between.”

Finding it hard to believe that Starscream just lets himself be so easily and uncharacteristically bend over, although he already thought about Starscream may demand information on GT galaxy’s situation, Megatron has to use sometime to regather his words.

“Very well.” He says.

GT galaxy holds a handful of small planets inhabited by different forms of sentient species, most of which are organic and unenthusiastic about worlds outside the galaxy. However, one the largest planet’s natural satellite GTooxo71 has a Cybertronian city, a city whose economy is built on offering construction labour for other planets in the galaxy. Yet still, due to Cybertronians’ bad reputation, despite their vorns of service, the GTooxo71 colonists aren’t very much liked by their neighbours, which is why most of its allies denied assistance to them when poisoning incidents rose in extraordinary numbers. Megatron was summoned there by a distress signal, where he met Drift who was an agent sent in for an energon deal the locals recently made with the famous yet enigmatic off-world merchant Flip Flare. By the time they met, Drift was being chased down by the planet’s diplomats who accused him of handing out poisoned fuel as well as a few bounty hunters who claimed that they were hired by Drift’s home planet. With both sides blaming for the incident, Drift quickly became the most wanted mech of the galaxy.

Megatron tells Starscream about the poisoning symptoms, the timeline and the planet’s diplomatic issues with its neighbours, but chooses not to mention Drift’s odd dilemma.

“The patients became violent and aggressive over time,” Megatron explains, “The planet was buying energon from various sources, the local medics ran tests on all of the samples and it got them nowhere. I stole a report before I left. They didn’t have an agreement yet when I took off. The report says some of them believe the situation could have been a long-term poisoning, with early symptoms as violent flash backs. It makes the source of it hard to track.”

“Then why did they chase down this particular energon merchant for it?” Starscream questions.

“Because the other suppliers were Velocitron, Cybertron and Caminus,” Megatron explains, carefully avoiding the fact that this particular merchant sort of admitted it was his fault by sending bounty hunters after his own agent, “and evidently seeing their people are fine. I guess capturing one off-world merchant mech doesn’t hurt anyone.”

“You seem oddly convinced of this off-world merchant’s innocence.” Starscream points out suspiciously.

“Well,” Megatron took a sip of his lunch brewery, he’s so not telling Starscream about Drift’s unreasonable devotion to his phantom lover, “I’m an off-world mech, and I had fed myself with what off-world mechs usually feed on. And I think I’m fine. Finer than a lot of mechs around there.”

“I can see that.” Starscream mutters bitterly. “Alright, my turn.”

“First thing first, Cybertron isn’t particularly rich in resources these days as you can see yourself. We buy fine energon from other planets to fulfil our people’s need for fuel. But here’s what most mechs don’t know, contrary to common belief we aren’t particularly short on energon, either. We actually harvest raw cubes here on Cybertron from the right beginning but since processing those would take too much work and time and require instruments we no longer possessed, we’ve almost never let our own people consume local fuel. We sell those as low-grade to a few trusted allies in exchange for other things, suited us pretty well with the small population we’ve got.”

“Until recently.” Starscream says. “The energon exchange rate no longer satiate the local mouths. Mechs are returning, end of sentence war criminals or else. And we have enough land that has returned to its fertile state. The council had a vote, well, it’s about time.”

“Then you got the stress signal from GT galaxy?” Megatron asks.

“Right the day the first energon-processing factory opened. Though when we reached over they’ve already cancelled the stress signal saying they’ve been saved by some off-world medic who call himself Electon. Good to know there are still some random do-gooders out there playing holy saviours. Damn spatial delay.” Starscream states bitterly, “Primus’ been pulling jokes on us. We all have to suffer.”

“Talking about Primus,” Megatron says, “Shockwave told me some quite interesting theory this morning. Something in your story tells me you actually believed his theory, maybe just a little.”

“Whatever makes you feel better.” Starscream swallows his lunch brewery in one go, “Just because I’m calling for supply from off-the-list dealers in replace of processed local fuel against the current trend of where things are going doesn’t mean I actually think our planet’s core is poisoned. I was a geologist once upon a time. I’ve seen fertile land doing weird things to its crops. You are welcomed to go on digging on your own, all the way right into Cybertron’s core to find the answer you want, because I surely won’t go there. Seekers fly, seekers don’t dig holes in the ground. Now, pay for my lunch.”

A joor in the cafe then they both left with what they came for. More so for Starscream because Megatron actually paid for his lunch. The seeker saw it as an advantage and ordered an extra drink before he left. It’s something he called a flavoured smoothie. Despite the thing’s unusually bright colour and the funny bubbling noise it’s making, the seeker sucked the metal straw like sucking on an unhealthy coping mechanism.

“I’ve always suspected the Autobots kept the Matrix somewhere else instead of surrendering it to the Core computer.” Starscream says before he returns to the Hall, “I guess I’m more or less convinced I’m right. I’m always right. But what bothers me most these days, is what they actually used for Core processor.”

When they went parted ways, Megatron murmurs to no one by his side.

“He’s changed quite a bit, don’t you think?”

By his side, Soundwave makes an uninterested huff.

“I wonder if you’ve changed too.” Megatron adds, “Maybe you have a new alt-mode now. We will find out when we meet in person. I like to think if I keep talking to you like this, even if it’s weirdly one-sided conversation, we will eventually meet again.”

Soundwave snorts at his statement. It’s a sweet assumption, something he’d like to pray on in his most depressive moments. However, considering his frame’s physical state, the mental image of their reunion is vividly disturbing.

Unlike Soundwave who so far, has found today full of surprises, Megatron has found the rest of his day less than ideal. He thinks about digging out more information at one of Swindle’s clubs but was told at the door that he’s been denied access to every one of them. There are even a few posters of him pinned to the entrance bulletin, featuring a shadow version of him and it reads “beware of wars”. When he’s reduced to seek out the Autobot side of the Cybertronian pub life, he was greeted by a “Closed” sign and a schedule indicating they only open at night.

Out of pure boredom, he tries to bug Ratchet with questions of bullet wound treatment and was given a link to the Iacon library book list. He then pinned Drift to ask about his progress, then was told he’s embracing himself with the positive energy of the planet where he will be led to an answer to his question if he asks nicely. Megatron quickly ended the call when Drift starts telling him to do the same. He highly doubts the spirits of Cybertron will agree to guide him anywhere after he ordered the destruction of half of the planet.

Talking about the other half of the planet, Optimus pins him in his most desperate moments and politely asks him if he can buy some mercury milk on his way back. Now Megatron is sitting on the bench in the city park, watching Optimus watering crystal flowers like an over-grown metal pixie, with a 10-gallon milk jar in his hand.

“When will your shift be over?” Megatron demands.

“It’s a full day job.” Optimus explains patiently, “I asked you to buy the milk on your way home, not on your way here.”

“Bold of you to assume I consider where you live as my home.” Megatron says, “Can’t you find someone else to take care of you flowers for a klik?”

“There are only two gardeners hired for this garden. The other mech is a part-time employee, and my supervisor.”

“I have the feeling they only made it a real job to accommodate you.”

“Don’t remind me.” Optimus deadpans.

Then the truck-former turns around to deal with the garden fence, Megatron finds himself staring at his back. It feels like he’s never seen Optimus’ back before and it’s probably true. No one would expose their backs to their worst enemy. And Optimus looks unnervingly unfamiliar from behind, it’s almost like he’s staring at someone else, some unfamiliar gardener he just met today.

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m the only one who hasn’t changed.” The ex-warlord murmurs.

“People change.” Optimus says without turning back, “Some refuse to change but changed nonetheless. Some are the opposite, they want to change, just with little success.”

“People are always full of trouble as long as they are alive.” Megatron says. “You fall into the second group, I imagine.”

“I’d like to think so.” Optimus admits. “But I actually think that would be you.”

“That’s a good one.”

“Thanks.” Says Optimus warily.

Sensing Megatron’s distress, Soundwave tilts his head in Megatron’s direction. He’s been happily hovering over the flower gardens. It’s been quite some time since he last saw a crystal flower. A shame that no one has thought about growing some near the Council Hall. But all of a sudden, the ex-spy’s attention is caught by an incoming call to Megatron’s frequency. It’s encrypted within the frequency spectrum for medical emergencies, possibly coming from a hospital or clinic. He quickly secured the line and put it through.

Megatron was almost knocked over when an unexpected comm. call was unleased directly to his processor. Ratchet is yelling at the top of his vocaliser from the other side of the line.

“What did you do?” The medic’s voice is horse and close to panicking. “What did you tell Drift in your last call?”

“Wha..” Megatron is confused to say the least, “I did nothing more than hanging up the call on him.”

“What was he doing when you hang up the call!”

Optimus tilts his head in his direction, silently inquiring what’s bothering him.

“Spectralism. Meditation.” Now Megatron is the panicking one. Surely hanging up a call during a religious conversation is rude, but it can’t cause a medical condition _that_ bad. “Spark yoga. Healthy diet?”

“What happened?” Optimus quietly steps closer with a water pot in hand. “Is something Drift did?”

“Look,” The ambulance says, “I don’t know how or why, but he went into a seizure soon after you called. Now he’s…”

“Ratchet, is that you?” Optimus leans over.

“Now Drift isn’t acting like himself.” The ambulance’s voice is serious, “I can’t handle this version of him.”

“Ratchet did he do something to you…” Optimus leans even closer.

“Megatron,” The medic pleads, “Don’t get Optimus involved.”

Megatron pushes Optimus away.

“I need to go.” He says.

“What happened?” The truck-former asks.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” The ex-warlord put the milk jar down to the bench, “You take this home when you’re done with your flowers.”

Optimus is torn between leaving with him and actually leaving it to him.

Soundwave however, is ready to follow Megatron all the way to the pit and back. Yet a loud pin suddenly echoes his processor, reminding him of an upcoming new coding section. Damn computer technicians and their obsession with system reboots these days. The spymaster is so tempted to follow but he cannot resist the summon of the Core. What if Megatron loses the portal device during his absence, what if Megatron never uses it again and it’s the last time they see each other? Anxiety pours over Soundwave all at once when he sees Megatron activate his transform sequence. He removes his mask and quickly presses his lips to the cheek of his friend as a farewell kiss right before Megatron transforms into his tank form. He should be ashamed of doing this right in front of Optimus Prime and without Megatron’s own permission. But no one is gonna object to something they can’t even see or feel.

With a proper farewell, the ghost’s invisible form disappears into thin air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave is now also up for adoption.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *warning: mentions of attempted assassinations, violence, and body horror

Megatron rushes into the hospital through the hidden back door that leads to Ratchet’s office where he finds the ambulance is attending to his own wounds with his vocaliser deactivated.

“What is happening to him?” The tank-former demands in a low voice.

The medic makes a “wait” gesture and welds the exposed wires on his left arm with metal meshes. When he’s done with closing the cut he gives himself a injection of what’s left in the syringe on the desk before turning his vocaliser back on.

“Stupid thing won’t stop spitting static noise.” The medic curses.

“He hit you hard in the helm, didn’t he?” Megatron predicts from his observation, “A concussion-caused vocaliser malfunction.”

“Who died and makes you the expert.” Ratchet hisses in pain. “He’s in the panic room now. I lured him in and locked him up in there. The room is soundproof but it’s only a matter of time before someone becomes suspicious.”

“Did you put him down.”

“Yes, a joor ago.” Ratchet explains, “That room is equipped with gaseous anaesthetics pipes.”

Megatron is stunned. “Why did you even build this room?”

“I didn’t. It’s the hospital’s legacy.” The medic explains in a now calmer voice, “When the division moved in the construction team found what’s left of the basement and reported it to me. Prowl liked the idea of having a private brig right below a hospital, but Optimus hated it. He was no longer in charge at the time but mechs valued his opinions. I talked him through, over and over again showing him evidence that some retired veterans may need containment once in a while as they adjust to their new life. They will come thank you later.”

“I imagine he still said no.”

“Until I told him he just may be one of them”, Ratchet shakes his head, “and with you out of the picture, no one will be able to hold him down if he ever goes into a session.”

For a moment, Megatron doesn’t know how to respond to that statement. His vocaliser spits out the question before his processor acknowledges it.

“Did he ever end up in here?”

The medic shots him a glare.

“Right,” Megatron nods quickly, “Patient confidentiality.” Then he changes the topic, “What’s with Drift then. Do you really think he’s triggered by, spectralism and yoga?”

“I’ll need your help to find out.” The medic says.

When the door to the panic room opens, it reveals an unconscious Drift on the floor and a painfully scratched wall. Judging by the depth of some of the sword cuts on the padded door, pit was unleashed inside the room for quite some time. After a quick diagnostic test, Ratchet confirms that the speedster actually broke two of his joints by overusing them.

Megatron carried him upstairs to the examine room where they strap him to the table. The place is a mess. Ratchet tells him his version of the story while accessing the medical port of the lifeless Drift.

“He came banging my comm. link when I was in the middle of a surgery with one of my prentices. I blocked him, temporarily. Turns out it’s a bad idea to leave him unattended. When I came out of the surgery room my comm. was flooded with messages. The first a few were cries for help, then he demands to be let out of the hidden chamber. After a few texts he began demanding to know who I am and why do I lock him up. It got worse and worse over time. When I unblocked the frequency he was pretty much shouting threats in my audials calling me an Autobot to who he will never surrender and if he ever finds out of who I am, I’ll be in so much trouble.”

“Good thing is he actually recognised me when I tried to communicated with him visually through the monitors here.” Ratchet says, pointing to the destroyed TV sets in defeat. His voice is uneased yet he remains as calm as always, “He told him he won’t betray the Decepticons for anyone, even me. Well, as flattered as I was, I told him I don’t need to be reminded of that. And I’m up for nothing at all, only trying to help him through a medical condition as a doctor. Not everything in this world is about factions.”

The medic pulls out the history log from his patient’s processor and displays it on the holo-projector, scrolling down in search of possible cause of crashes.

“Despite that edgy Decepticon act, I managed to talk him to some senses. I don’t even remember what slag I came up with in the heat of the moment, but he bought my freshly composed explanation. I told him to go to the room next door and I’ll be with him shortly. Then I locked the door behind him.”

“I take it he didn’t take being lied to the face very well.” Megatron eyes the history log with cautions as he plays his part as the bodyguard of the desperate moment. The relaxant will take about a joor to kick in.

Ratchet says nothing, his optics focused on the history logs as he scrolls down the list. Eventually his finger stops somewhere on the list.

“Here.” The medic says, “His ingestion tank was activated once right before he sent me the call.”

“Could it be his medication?” Megatron asks, “Did you leave anything edible here?”

“His medication is just placebo.” Ratchet says.

Megatron stares at him in pure horror.

“Don’t give me that look,” says the medic in unflappable calmness, “You may not be a medic by forge but I read his history logs when I found him on Luna-3. You treated him for at least one lunar cycle before you landed here. You attended to his wounds, you purged his tank. There isn’t much left for me to do here. You should have already figured it out yourself that his symptoms are more than likely, purely psychological now.”

“But here,” Megatron quickly scrolls up his history log, “you said his psychological crash happened right after he consumed something in your lab. Maybe it’s not poisonous but it’s triggering. Maybe it’s….could it be just some special taste that brings out the memory?”

Ratchet hesitates for a long moment before pointing out that there is a possibility.

“I left part of that energon sample you gave me in the lab here.” The medic admits. “That should be the only edible material in this unit. By the way, I didn’t find anything useful in it, either. It’s just pure energon.”

“Have you tasted it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Never mind.” Megatron says, “We will find out from him once he wakes up. But before that we must transfer him back into the panic room. We won’t know what state he’ll be in when he wakes up.”

“No.” was Ratchet’s response.

“Alright,” Megatron compromises, “I’ll stay for the night, watch over him.”

“No.”

“Do you even hear yourself?”

“Two of his joints are disconnected,” The medic says, “The other two are too worn out to rotate.”

“He’s killed mechs with less.” Megatron taps a finger on the ambulance’s chasis, “I’ve ordered him to kill with less. And he came back from it.”

“He’s now on an IV drip of relaxant.”

“He had half a functional leg and totally three fingers left when he climbed onto my shuttle.”

“I made him a promise.” The medic says in his end-of-discussion voice, “and I don’t lie.”

Later that night Megatron calls Optimus to inform him that he won’t be home for the night.

“Is Ratchet OK?” The truck-former asks. “He…he’s not answering my call.”

“I’ll personally tell him to call you back.”

“How about Drift.”

“Drift is stable for now.” Megatron says, “But I’m staying to make sure he stays that way.”

“What caused all of this.”

“I wish I know.” Megatron sighs. “Listen. I know I may sound super hypocritical for saying this. But don’t buy fuel from suppliers you aren’t familiar with. There are massive poisoning cases out there and mechs are trying to figure out why. Cybertron as one of the known sources, is high on the list of the suspected source of the pollution. But our people don’t usually consume local energon here. I even don’t know it’s a curse of blessing.”

“Is there anything I can do to help you find out the truth?”

“No.” Megatron says, then he quickly corrects himself, “I mean, yes, of course. But you said it yourself. This should be left to the enforcers, and as far as I know someone rather high-ranking is already on the case.”

“You mean you are teaming up with Starscream.”

“Well,” Megatron snorts, “That’s one way to put it.”

It takes a while for Optimus to put it into words. But eventually, he chooses to mention it.

“I still have influence here and there, you know.”

“Optimus,” Megatron cuts him out, “Ratchet showed me the panic room.”

There is no reply from the other side of the comm. link.

“Drift destroyed most of the cushioning layers. I had to put some panels back on since no one else will be allow in here in a while.” He says. “I saw a few dents beneath. Fist shape, pretty big.”

Optimus remains silent on the other side of the line then, he asks a question in return.

“Megatron,” The truck-former says, “how did the victims of the massive poisoning incidents recover? From what I’ve heard, they were saved by an off-world bounty hunter who is also a medic.”

“And why Drift can’t be helped in the same way they were?”

Starscream and Prowl are arguing.

Soundwave has been sitting on the console for joors just to wait for them to come to a conclusion but it’s getting dark outside and they are still arguing, going over and over again about the security risk, the efficiency, and to cover “it” up from people of Cybertron.

“Don’t lie to me, strategist.” The seeker demands, with his hands rested on his waist, “You and I both know it has nothing to do with the Matrix.”

“Exactly.” The police car says, “Because the Matrix doesn’t matter. It never does. Now it never will. As long as the Core is functioning, who cares what its main processor is made of?”

“How many times do I need to tell you?” The seekers marches around the console aggressively before he angrily points his finger at the ex-strategist, “I can’t care less about the Core building on the Matrix is just a false propaganda to comfort those old veterans with anxiety issues, like Red Alert! The civilians don’t even know about the Core computer. You can go ahead make an announcement on TV, broadcast it all over the city with bold letters telling everyone it’s built on an eyeball you scooped from Unicron with your bare hands and no one will give a slag!”

“If you take it any further, I’m forced to believe you are just one of those mechs with anxiety issues, like Red Alert!” Prowl groans in frustration, “Do I need to give you Rung’s number? Hate to break the news to you but I’m no psychiatrist. Now leave the room and let me finish rebooting the system so we can all go home!”

“You can patch up your system bugs tomorrow and I won’t give a damn.” The seeker smashes his fist on the metal surface of the console, right next to where Soundwave is sitting, “I am a senator, an ex-Decepticon high-rank commander, I was one of the negotiators during the discussion of the Treaty. And my name, was on that piece of scrap now sits in the Iacon history museum.”

“So is my own name.”

“Well, then you don’t deserve to be on that list, do you?” The seeker laughs, “I remember the whereabouts of the Matrix made it to the top 3 and look at you now! You’ve been bouncing around the question for joors! You have no clue where it really went!”

“I have every clue where it is and I can confirm you it is safe and secured.” Prowl snaps, “Just because your own colleagues kept information from you doesn’t make me a breacher of the Treaty.”

“So,” Starscream’s voice is suddenly low, but not angry. “Shockwave.”

He taps his finger on the metal console he just dented. Soundwave frowns and shifts away.

“Shockwave knew this when he built the Core computer.” It comes out as a statement rather than an accusation.

“It’s about Shockwave, isn’t it?” Prowl leans his frame onto the wall. “Shockwave and his interest in his conspiring version of geology.”

“Shockwave has ruled the planet for much longer time than any of us ever did.” Starscream points out.

“Which has directly led to his failure in every round of election he participated in.”

“The number of supports behind a theory does not make it true or untrue. A scientist is a scientist.”

The police car crosses his arms underneath his legendary chestplate, blue optics examine the senator with caution.

“So,” he says, “you believe him.”

“No.” Starscream denies, “I believe in statistics.”

It took a few kliks to sink in.

“So that’s what you’ve hired Turmoil for.” Prowl says, “You’re having him running errands for you. Turmoil and Bludgen, they are not on the list of trusted Cybertronian merchants yet you insist to put the mon trial. You’ve sold the processed fuels to them. They sell those to anonymous buyers whose customers usually won’t ask questions as long as the price is low. And they return you with their results.”

“You are testing your theory on sentient, living, Cybertronian subjects.” Prowl continues, “Does Skyfire know what you are doing? Is it in your election campaign profile?”

“Does Optimus know you’ve been trying to assassinate Megatron for the past vorns?” Starscream asks. “With a total number of 278451 attempts and 0 success. And you only lost track of him when he changed his name to Electon and re-declared himself as a bounty-hunter slash medic.”

Prowl says nothing.

“And who would have guessed,” The seeker says, “it’s your obsession with the assassination missions that pushed Jazz to snap. What do you think Optimus will say if he finds out what you’ve put his roommate through.”

The ex-strategist grits his teeth.

“He deserves worse.”

Soundwave raised his helm in his direction. The police car’s fury burns, velvet sparks floating around the room, a bitter taste on his glossa. A pinch of regret comes right after the it, Prowl looks away. A hint suggesting Starscream is close to winning.

“I used to be scientist and scientists believe in facts.” The seeker cunningly offers, “And from what I’ve heard, you like facts, too. More than that, you love statistics. And now, ethical source or not, I have statics. Statics that I can share with you.”

“All I want to know, is what Shockwave asked for in return, to cover up your little story of the missing Matrix.”

The silence in the room is deafening. But the end is already near.

Knowing where this is going, Soundwave curls up his knees on the console.

“He asked us to turn him into a project.”

“A project?”

“He wanted the Autobots to find a solution to restore his emotion module.” Prowls continues, “he wanted the neurologists to keep exploring and he wanted to become the fixed subject of the highly risky, and repetitive surgeries that came of the process, saying he wants to feel regret. He wanted to regret for things he’s done to others. Maybe not all of them but a few. Maybe not to everyone, but to someone.”

“That’s it?” says Starscream in disbelief.

“Yes.”

“Did he then?” He asks.

“Did he what?”

“Feel regret.”

“Seeing he’s repetitively putting himself into prison and have himself locked up from everyone for no good reason,” The police car says, “I’d say he got what he wanted.”

Seeing tonight’s event is finally coming to an end, Soundwave sighs in relief. He stares down the camera of Shockwave’s cell through the Core’s readings. He never has problem locating his old co-worker for the portable terminal he carries, yet today he can only see the other through the camera, for he has given the last piece of hacking portal to Megatron.

In the darkness, the bright red single optic stares back, looking at the camera as if he knows someone is watching.

“You must have found today enjoyable, my friend. It’s only logical.” He asks, knowing that his watcher cannot hear him without microphone installed to give him audio feeds, “Knowing that I’m, as for now, regretting what I did to you.”

“For building you alive into the Core computer in replace of the Matrix.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor everyone I guess...


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings：non-consensual drug use, past abuse, branding  
> and objectification on both Drift and Soundwave's behalf

He was dreaming as his energon lines were pumped with relaxant. Drift allows himself to drift in his thoughts, his memories, and his many, many regrets.

One of his greatest regrets was not having that very drunk, totally no good, terrible, horrible conversation with Hot Rod, who already calls himself Rodimus back then, any earlier.

When they met each other at the only fuel station near what remained of DT-26 totally by accident, they have already spent the better time of a whole vorn trying to kill each other, on the assumption that the other one has been following them under their faction’s command. When the misunderstanding unravelled and revealed that they were defectors on their way out of the marvellous mess behind them, they placed an order for an excess amount of fuel to flush away the embarrassment in the air. The whole situation was awkward as slag, until Hot Rod, or Rodimus, raised his cube high above his helm and asked for a toast.

“You know what. Up till tonight, I thought I’m the most useless bot in the whole universe with his last strand of hope pathetically stuck in finding peace in DT-27’s ugly remains of my own making, and now I have a friend. I say we have a toast to that.”

And Drift, or at that time, Deadlock, had miraculously agreed with him. Not to the statement that they were friends, but to his invitation for a toast. Either Rodimus was too far gone by then, or the Autobot hasn’t seen a friendly face in a really long time, the red speedster was almost overwhelmed by that small bumping noise of their cubes, so between drinking up his fair share of energon with abandon and ordering another round, he told him all the stories of how he left Cybertron.

“So I told Soundwave,” he had said, “that he should totally leave with me. But he wouldn’t. He pulled out a list of reasons that he can’t just pack up and leave. You see, someone has to stay a bit longer to make sure the meetings go smoothly, and after that someone has to see the treaty come to effect. Someone has to make sure Starscream doesn’t break his part of the deal, just for a bit longer. And someone has to stay behind to make sure that no one finds out where I went. Someone has to stay behind to make sure people bought our excuses.”

“But I know the real reason. He just wanted to look after Megatron and all that. I know the feeling. I’d do the same for Optimus. Well, it’s usually the other way round between me and Optimus, I suppose. Usually people say the best thing I can do is to stay out of trouble. But I get it. I get his ideals. And it kills me to think he can stay to make things better, easier for who he cares, even if at the cost of his own life, and for me, the best favour I can give everyone is to run out of the whole picture as fast as I can.”

He had then told him.

“I wonder if one day, I can have someone like that, like him. Always loyal, always the constant of my life, and always, forever always, have faith in me. I want to become someone worthy of a mech like that.”

Deadlock had laughed so hard at that statement that night, because no one will ever, ever want to be Soundwave. They wouldn’t have even dreamt of it even with only two mechs left in the universe to pick from and the other one being Starscream. He had mocked Rodimus with utter bitterness and called him a loser. It got himself a fist in the face and they toasted for that too.

Hundreds of vorns later, during their _Amica_ rites right before they took off in different shuttles, with Drift heading to GTooxo71 and Rodimus to Cybertron, he had recited that very sentence word for word to Rodimus.

“Do you think I’m that mech now?” He had asked, teasingly. “Live for you and die for you, with enough faith to go all the way to Cybertron and back?”

“Not in a million vorns.” Rodimus had replied with his usual smugness, “’cause that’s totally my part!”

“You’ve wounded me!” He had laughed, no one has ever told him the spark-merging process _tickles_ , “I’m literally baring my spark to you. You’re not allowed to do that!”

By the time Rodimus was already holding a piece of soldering iron in his hand. His soft, warm chuckles brushed his spark, hiding the nervousness and fear below the smiling face.

“I’m gonna do more than a little wounding to your spark right now.” He had said, “I’m gonna carve an answer to it. The answer to the mystery. Because you’ll forget before you reach your destination. We probably both will.”

When he bent down and dived the burning tip to Drift’s spark casing Drift didn’t even flinch. Yet Rodimus grabbed his right hand tight with his own empty left hand.

“I’ll go find you.” Drift promised between pained hisses, “I promise you I’ll find you once I’ve reached Cybertron.”

Drift wakes up with something stuck in his throat. When he tries to let it out, it slips deeper, and when he reaches for it, it corrupts his core. Now it’s burning with his spark, it can no longer leave him. He’s once again all alone. He’s in pain and he’s now fused with pain. He can feel how he’s being turned into the personification of pain, a shell to contain so little yet still fading, inch by inch, as every coherent thought slipping by.

Where is he now? Is he still in Turmoil’s prison or has he managed to escape? He had arrived at the GTooxo71 with a stock of antidote to help their people. But he cannot leave the planet without handing it to trusted hands even if Turmoil had pretty much turned the whole planet against him.

He needs to find a medic he can trust. The amount of polluted energon Turmoil has forced him to consume every other joor has made damage to both his mind and frame. He’s suffering memory loss at even faster speed. He has to lead the antidote to someone he can trust before he even forgets that part of his mission, too. But before that he has to figure out how much time left before Turmoil comes in to force down another feed. The haunting taste of polluted energon is still stuck in his throat, making it feel even drier as every klik passes by. He remembers finding the small vial of energon when his throat suddenly felt impossibly dry. He remembers losing his mind right after consuming it as usual. He remembers being locked up a well-designed private brig as he screamed through his episode. He remembers seeing someone familiar.

Ratchet, the Autobot CMO.

Was he real or just another hallucination created by his urgent desire to find a trustworthy medic on this planet, or rather satellite? Has Cybertron captured GT galaxy’s stress signal and sent him here to help? Whoever’s side he’s on, as long as the mech really is Ratchet, he can be trusted with the antidote of the mysterious poison. The medic’s is intelligent. He can figure out a lie to deal with the rest of the planet demanding to know where the antidote came from. He may not believe him at first, but he can always show Ratchet his spark casing. Ratchet will probably recognise Hot Rod’s shitty writing. He sincerely don’t think anyone will _fail to_ recognise Rodimus’ writing. Next time you let someone write on your own spark, _Amica_ or not, you should pick a guy with decent writing skills.

With a processor pain stuck in his helm, he tries to reach out into the dark only to find his joints most likely dislocated. Then his fingers are met with a shadow. It emergences from the dark and folds its frame around him. It feels warm.

“Hey,” The shadow says in a familiar voice, “Hey kid, do you need anything?”

It’s Ratchet. Drift’s optics widen instantly at the sight of the medic who he hasn’t had the privileged chance of glancing at even in his dreams.

“Ratchet,” he means to scream but it comes out as a whisper, “is that really you?”

“Yes, yes.” The medic squeezes his hands reassuringly.

Despite the rather expected answer, Drift is still in shock. It feels new, to become the focus of the proper attention after being treated as nothing more than a test subject for so long. And it is Ratchet, for whatever reason, Ratchet even looks like he’s about to apologise to him. Not sorry for him, but apologetic. It is almost flattering. Everything is more surreal right now than his violent, degenerating hallucinations.

“When did you get here?” The speedster quickly gathers himself, he doesn’t have much time left, whether till Turmoil come back looking for him or till he’s out of his processor again. “Have you tested their patients yet?”

“What?” Ratchet frowns in confusion, “Drift, I…”

“Never mind. We don’t have time for that right now.” He squeezes the medic’s hands in return. Despite the fact that most of his fingers don’t even response to his command right now, he managed to hold on to one of those red, ambulance fingers, “I was ordered to come here to bring the antidote to the local poisoning victims. But Turmoil…I, I don’t remember much of it but he’s found me first and kept me here. He probably has destroyed the antidotes on my ship by now. But you don’t need to worry about that, I, I have a different solution. We can save these mechs, we can save all of them!”

Ratchet looks stunned, the one finger in his palm went stiff. The medic looks like he doesn’t know how to make any of what he said right now and Drift is actually amused. As long as the medic isn’t saying a solid no, there’s a chance he’ll win. So he continues to speak.

“I’m immune.” He says breathlessly, the pain is already crawling its way back, “I and Roddy, we are immune, because of the Matrix I guess and my spark bond with him. My frame isn’t as good as his but I can do it too. You keep feeding me that poison and my blood will serve as an antidote. All you need to do is keeping me here…”

“Drift?” Ratchet squeezes his hand too hard it almost hurts. “Who is ‘he’?”

“Huh?” It takes Drift a few kliks to register the question, “Oh, Roddy? Rodimus, he likes to call himself that these days. I call him Rodimus Prime sometimes, too. You know, when no one’s listening and it’s practically true I guess. He likes it to hear it sometimes for ‘mental stability’, he says. He has a few names these days, just like me. From Hot Rod, to Flip Flare.”

There’s a big bang from the entrance to the other room A mech rushes in with heavy steps. Drift can already tell he’s a mech of proportional size by the sound.

“Ratchet?” The newcomer says, “Are you OK? Is he stable now? We should put more restraints on him before he wakes up.”

The voice sounds familiar. Drift froze when he realised whose voice is this.

“I still think we should move him back to the panic room.” The voice says as he continues to approach the door to the medbay.

All of a sudden Drift remembers how he ended up on this medbay berth and more importantly, who put him into this situation. The tightening squeeze on his broken hand no longer feels warm and reassuring. Drift begins to struggle out of his grib.

“Wait!” And the guilt Ratchet’s been wearing just confirmed it. The medic tries to push him down, but all of a sudden, a coldness in his stomach hit him like a rock. He glances down and sees the knife piercing through his plating, energon gathering on the floor between his legs. He hears Megatron shouting his name as Drift escaped into the vents before he hears his own body hitting the floor.

Megatron barked his name when Optimus finally answers his call.

“You need to go find Drift.” The ex-Decepticon says, “I have to perform a surgery on Ratchet right now. His life is on the line.”

“Explain.” Optimus quickly rushes to the door, activating his scanning system as he demands for an answer.

“Drift woke up with a memory loss and thought Ratchet was turning him to me when he stabbed Ratchet.” Megatron says, his voice gravely serious, “But, hear me out, Optimus. Ratchet will be fine. Drift avoided the major energon lines and I’m more than capable to patch him up. But Drift won’t be if he’s still out there by dawn. Furthermore, so will many other mech lose their only hope to survive if we lose him.”

“I’m afraid I have more questions now,” Optimus reaches the exit and transforms into his vehicle mode, “But I suppose that can wait. Do you have a lead on where he went?”

“I threw a tracker on him when he escaped. I’m sending you the codes.”

Soundwave’s consciousness slowly surfaces from the mainframe as he was summoned by the portal built by Shockwave, and the first thing he realises is he’s standing in the middle of the Iacon night, following an anxious speedster with next to no sense of direction. It didn’t take him long to realise he has, or rather the portal to his mainframe has, been used as a tracking device to a certain Cybertronian individual. It’s a spark signature that matches the signal returned from Luna-3. It feels familiar. Whoever it is, he’s probably being tracked down by Megatron.

However, though obviously on one pit of a run from Megatron, the white speedster is roaming the streets of Iacon with no solid idea about where he’s really going at all and his mental state is close to disorientation. Figures he might as well stop him before he causes more damages to himself, Soundwave hacks the speedster’s system through the portal device attached to his frame and activates an alarm clock. The sharp, siren noise gives the incoherent speedster quite a scare resulting in him squeezing into the nearest ally as soon as he can. Once he’s in, Soundwave orders the barricades to drop on both ends of the short road through the traffic-managing system. Seeing he’s trapped, the speedster quickly transformed into his root mode to examine the spiked barricades in front of him. Soundwave, on the other hand, patiently follows his steps just to kill some time before Megatron arrives to retrieve the tracker.

However, when the speedster turns around in defeat and their optics finally meet, they both look at the other in shock.

“Deadlock.” Soundwave murmurs.

“Soundwave?” Drift gasps. “I thought you were dead.”

Soundwave takes a step forward trying not to look too eager.

“You can see me?”

Drift reaches for his former commander and is shocked speechless when his arm is met with nothing but cool, Iacon air. His optics widened and his words tangled.

“Are you,” he stutters in downing fear, “are you part of my hallucination, too?”

Soundwave is almost as speechless as the other ex-Decepticon. But he already has a few theories in mind. However, there is no time to test any of the theories right now. His system has already detected the presence of three different mechs heading in their direction in vehicle modes. The inhospitality in the air, the dark desires in their minds suggest they are no friends of Deadlock. And a quick brain scan also returns the result saying they are no followers of Megatron, either. When he expands the range of his reading, he detected a familiar signal. Optimus Prime is heading in their direction. The telepath quickly ordered the barricades to clear.

“Can you still transform?” He says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added "objectification" to the tags. It's very literal in Soundwave's case. I used "supernatural element" before to avoid spoilers, but technically speaking, Soundwave isn't dead yet. The "Core" refers to three differnt "things" in this fic and yeah, now it's pretty clear that Soundwave is one of them.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of torture, past abuse, drug use of dubious consent.

Megatron was welding the cut on one of Ratchet’s pumps when his wrist was suddenly caught by a hand. Despite how tight the grip is, Megatron’s hand doesn’t budge.

“You are not supposed to wake up right now on the dose of anaesthetic I gave you.” Megatron says objectively.

“And you think you are professional enough to give medical advice to a medic.” The injured ambulance replies.

Megatron continues to patch up his pump rotors. “I had time, I had practice.”

“I suppose you even had patients.”

“You’d be surprised what people would agree to in desperate times.”

“Was the whole GTooxo71 station desperate enough for you back then?”

Megatron pauses his hand for a klik’s time, then continues to do his work.

“When did you figure out?” He asks, voice suddenly much lower.

“It wasn’t me. It was Optimus,” The medic says, tiredness in his voice as his processor recover from anaesthesia, “was a joke. The GT galaxy thing was on the news for a while and when we were at the oil bar, he said the name Electon sounds like Megatron.”

“It doesn’t.”

“It doesn’t.” Ratchet agrees, “For a while, he thinks a lot of mechs look like you, a lot of names sound like yours, a lot of things look like your doing.”

When he begins to cough, Megatron had to press down his would to stop further bleeding.

“You should stop talking.” He says. “You know you are not dying. We can always talk later.”

“Like pit I’ll—”

“And you cannot threaten me when my fingers are literally in your guts.”

It’s apparently the wrong thing to say because the grip on his wrist tightens to an impossible degree. Megatron can even his own plating crack under pressure.

“Ratchet—”

“Don’t Ratchet me!” The medic snaps, “I was a fool to buy your story. Optimus bought your scrap and I just tagged along to make him feel better. I was supposed to be the one of better judgement yet I bought your lie.”

“I did not—”

“What have you done to Drift?” The medic demands, his grip on Megatron’s hand is cracking both surfaces, he can sparks falling out between his fingers, “You said he was poisoned on GTooxo71 among the others. But you healed the others you didn’t heal him? Why? The kid just told me he’s immune, that you can drain his blood as antidote as long as you keep poisoning him.”

“You poisoned him, Megatron, didn’t you? You poisoned him beyond repair and scared his processor with traumas. Is it a game to you? Because you want to play the hero, the saviour? After abandoning your own people and being alone out there for so long, you desperately want someone to warship you again like the old days? Just like your army of psychopath ‘Cons!”

“Yes!” The ex-warlord admits as he tries to remove the hand from his wrist. He barks loudly in pain when he feels his wrist has been cut open by several scalpels all at a time. He remembers the tales of the forged medics: each of their fingers turn into different surgery equipments.

“He asked me to.” He pleads as he uses his other hand to guide his patient down. Despite the scalpels in his wrist he’s not striking back. “He begged me to!”

Ratchet twitched his finger and Megatron gasped.

“I’m telling the truth.” He says, “You are being unbelievably unreasonable here and I’m still not attacking you. I’m telling the truth and you know it.”

“I do.” The medic sounds calm enough to know what he’s doing, even horrifyingly so. “And I’m angry because you are. Because a medic does not, should not, and will not grant a wish of a patient like that.”

Suddenly Megatron is laughing.

“What’s so funny.”

“You know,” Megatron says, a sarcastic sense of humour in his voice, “I said the same thing the first time he asked that of me.”

Ratchet falls silent, he looks away. In his clouded processor, he somehow knows where this is now going.

“He said I’m a killer, not medic. Neve was, and never will be. And even if I am, if there should be one medic in this universe who has to live with the fact that he cured his patients by torturing one of them, then let it be me.”

“Turn left at the next corner.” Soundwave instructs.

He quickly scrolls down the traffic map of the whole area to mesmerise it. He has never walked on any of them in his entire life and now he’s a traffic manager. What is left of his life is such a piece of legendary mess.

“When you take the second turn you will pass a traffic light with camera and SAM. You speed up as fast as you can and it will trigger the alarm. The system will call for the nearest guard. Once they come running you take the bridge down to the ground level. I’ll separate the bridge once you run past it. Don’t worry about footage. I’ll remove your signature from the system once the elite guards on their taillights.”

“You can do that?” The speedster comments as he tries to catch his breath.

“Affirmative.”

“But you are only an imagination. Side effect of taking poisoned fuel.”

“Negative.”

They turned at the second corner. One of the mechs is already right behind them and another one appears on the other side of the street.

“If I take your advice and it turns out you’re only my imagination.” Drift says, “I’ll be have both them and the Elite Guard on my aft.”

“Affirmative.”

“You are not helping.”

Soundwave points to the other side of the street where the other mech is approaching in his vehicle mode. Suddenly the traffic control barricade drops right into his bumper, crashing his front window underneath.

“Point taken.”

They raced past the traffic light at full capacity of Drift’s engine and it rewarded them with a big red NO on the screen. A police siren begins to roar somewhere in the background.

“They are only 42.1 seconds away from here.” Soundwave says, he puts a pointer on the location of the bridge, “Here, you have to reach it within 30.”

“Or I’ll be caught by the Elite Guard?”

“Or the probability of success for you to jump across the cleavage will be below 75%.”

“Wait? You mean you’ve _already_ lifted the bridge?!”

“Affirmative.”

A bullet hit Drift’s tire.

“…63%.”

“Not helping!”

It’s not a fair race. Drift is in very bad condition to begin with, and through telepathic link, Soundwave can sense his panic. The sound of every warning window popping out of Drift’s system is almost noisier than the rumbling of his engine, which is, also louder than usual for a speedster, possibly indicating he’s been drugged very recently. The only reason he hasn’t suffered a complete shutdown yet is the state of is spark. It’s energetic, abnormally so. If something sings even louder than his engine and system errors combined, it’s his spark. How is this possible? Giving his physical state, his spark should be close to fading away.

Even within the precious 30 seconds, Drift may crash any time now, mentally, physically, or a spark failure, you pick one. And with his chaser now starts shooting, he’s not taking the pressure well.

“Allow me.” The telepath says.

Not far from them, Optimus is driving to the location of Drift. He accessed the tracker through the passcode Megatron sent him. It allows him to see where Drift is in real time on the city map. But all of a sudden, an arrow appears on the map pointing where Drift’s is heading. A bridge not far from here has been circled out with the calculated shortest path for Optimus to get there. The map now displays not just Drift’s signal, but Optimus’ as well, along with an unknown moving signature right behind Drift who seems to be chasing him down.

It strikes the Prime that what Megatron gives him is not a tracking device. A tracker can only send out signal to its receivers, but what he has here, information can go both ways.

It’s a hacking device. And furthermore, someone other than Drift, Optimus, or Megatron, is using it. Is it a friend, or a foe.

“Identify yourself.” He demands.

The Core computer’s logo appears at the bottom of the map.

“This is not helping.” The truck-former murmurs to himself as he turns around and head directly for the bridge.

When Drift reaches the bridge it’s already halfway up.

“How much percentage do I have left.” The white race car asks.

“Probability of success: below 23%.”

“Impressive.”

Drift roars all the way up the high hill as fast as he can. Behind him, his chaser, a black vehicle races up right behind him and narrowing the distance between them with each thrust. They are approaching the top of the hill where the bridge is lifted. They both of them are already running out of tires as the angle gets tougher over time. By the time they reached the cleavage, the other side of the bridge is already beyond reach, but there’s already no turning back now.

“Do you think I’m actually seeing you because I’m dying today?” Drift asks.

“Hypothesis: possible. Conclusion: only one way to find out.”

They jumped nonetheless.

The race car drives himself high into the sky as bullets flying behind his exhaust pipe, riding the night winds as the other side of the bridge breaks away inch by inch. When it’s obvious Drift won’t make it to the other side in his alt-mode, Soundwave dives into Drift’s mind, pulling all the strings he shouldn’t pull, he casts a forced transformation override mid-air. It almost feels good, to have a body to use after hundreds of vorns of isolation. He used the transformation sequence to eject the tracker attached to Drift’s frame and it’s blew right into the face of the other mech. Then he activated the portal’s explosion sequence.

The speedster screams in pain as he’s transformed back to his robot mode and reaching for the edge with his hands, but still, still not quite reaching the other side of the bridge. Out of blue, a firm hand reached for him and grabs his hand with steady, comforting strength. He is then fiercely smashed right to the chest plate of a red-and-blue truck who appeared on the other side of the bridge last minute.

“Optimus?”

“Yes.” The Prime says, “Leave with me, now.”

A loud explosion bursts out from the other side of the lifted bridge, taking both the bridge and the chaser with it. Optimus transforms as he shields Drift from the shockwave of explosion.

“Let’s go.”

He drives down the now extremely steep hill carrying Drift in his driver’s seat. He didn’t go much further once he’s down that pitfall before he’s stopped by a giant hologram. A projected recording.

It’s a recording of Starscream and Prowl arguing in what looks like a computer lab. Judging by the way they look, it’s probably a rather recent one.

It didn’t take Optimus long to realise the same recording is now being displayed everywhere. Billboards, LCD screens, holo-ads, even radios. It’s flooded all surfaces of every form of media, right when the dawn is about to break on Cybertron in about a joor’s time.

“I was in Solar 2331’s orbit when I received the distress signal.” Megatron says as Ratchet hands him the coolant. Now that the medic is back up and kicking with a welded stomach he’s obliged to attend to Megatron’s wound now.

“I lied on that one. I’ll give you that. I kept saying I got the distress signal from the GTooxo71 station but I actually got it from Drift. And when I arrived, it was pit of a scenery.”

“There are three different stages of the poisoning. At stage one, the patients have temporary flashbacks of violent events that happened to them. When it enters stage two, memory loss begins to kick in, and a lot of them end up believing they are actually in the middle of their most traumatising events, but they can still snap out of it when they gain their sense of time. Stage three, the patients are constantly incoherent without any sense of reality and actively ripping up their surroundings.”

“When I arrived at GT galaxy, the colonists were mostly in Stage 3, with mechs literally trying to each other with no good reasons out on the streets. That was why I came just in time. They didn’t need a particular good medic to heal them back then, they needed a good warrior to defeat those who went mad and guide the rest to safety. I quickly gathered a group of mechs and we trapped the mad ones in a certain part of the city which bought us time to find a cure, for which they were grateful. But after quite some time, the local medics made no progress. In the meantime, I searched for Drift, he must have somehow heard of my arrival so he found his way to me first. When he climbed into my shuttle, he was in a terrible state. He told me he actually came to the planet with the antidotes but was captured by the real bad guys. A group of mechs of Cybertron origin actually came here to use the planet as a testing field. Then he told me about his immunity. He asked me to finish what his torturers started. He said someone gave up life to get him here so he will not leave until the problem is solved.”

“Don’t tell me you believed his theory.” Ratchet opened a bottle of medical grade, which he actually sips in to ease down the fury in his throat.

“I didn’t, at first. He was plenty disorientated when I met him,” says Megatron as he welds his severed wrist, “I purged his tank, restrained him to berth and fed him clean energon. Then I saw it for myself. Unlike everyone else, he actually got better. That’s when he begins to beg me to poison him again.”

“Then you did?”

“After a while, yes.” Megatron admits, “Even when drugged, his symptoms were forever stuck in early Stage 2, and in his better days, he told me he’s been poisoned even before he came to GT galaxy. He has suffered from memory loss ever since.”

“So you bought his theory and began draining his blood as he requested?”

“Yes.” Megatron finishes welding his wrist with a soldering gun, “Purge tank first, put on infusion right after, then give it one shot, put the patient on clean energon, everyone comes out clean in a week.”

“You figured out a cure,” Ratchet points out, still barely containing his anger, “and even a standard treatment. But none of you figured out what was the cause of it.”

“Correct.” Megatron says. He throws the soldering gun back to the plate. “And according to Drift, Flip Flare was the first immune Cybertronian who somehow also foresees the whole thing, I thought he’d be our best shot. Drift says Flip Flare was actually heading to Cybertron when they split so I figured I’d come home to find the guy. But it turns out Flip Flare is just Hot Rod by another name.”

Then he adds, “And apparently, a Matrix-bearer too.”

Ratchet raised his head from trying to distract himself by preparing the new surgery table for Drift. He looks at Megatron skeptically.

“Did he tell you that?” He asks, “Did Optimus tell you that himself?”

He didn’t get an answer to the question, because said Optimus called the both of them, first to confirm he’s secured Drift, but more importantly.

“Turn on the news.” The ex-Prime says in his serious voice, “And don’t come out of that room until I’m back.”

The two of them shot each other a confused look, then they turned on the news datapad.

On the other side of the city, Soundwave’s consciousness slowly woke up once again in the mainframe, the explosion has destroyed the hacking device which sent him all the way back to his old home. He doesn’t have a proper body right now but what he’s experiencing is very close to a hangover. The second thing he realise is, he’s surrounded by the entire technician team of the Council, who obviously can’t see him but with all their attention now completely focused on the Core computer.

His first instinct is the Core has been hacked during his short absence. Then he realises everyone’s staring at the holo-screen right above his head.

The exhausted telepath turns around and raised his head. He sees a short recording being broadcasted on loop. He recognises this recording, it’s fresh footage from last night.

“So that’s what you’ve hired Turmoil for. You’re having him running errands for you. Turmoil and Bludgen, they are not on the list of trusted Cybertronian merchants yet you insist to put the mon trial. You’ve sold the processed fuels to them. They sell those to anonymous buyers whose customers usually won’t ask questions as long as the price is low. And they return you with their results. You are testing your theory on sentient, living, Cybertronian subjects. Does Skyfire know what you are doing? Is it in your election campaign profile?” Says Prowl.

“Does Optimus know you’ve been trying to assassinate Megatron for the past vorns? With a total number of 278451 attempts and 0 success. And you only lost track of him when he changed his name to Electon and re-declared himself as a bounty-hunter slash medic.” Says Starscream.

Soundwave doesn’t need to be told twice to let the Core halt the entire city’s media streaming all at once and put on his strongest firewall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many apologies to Ratchet. He is beyond angry right now but...he'll be...even angrier in next chapter.  
> My goal is to get 100 kudos before this story ends.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of consensual spark-merge, PTSD episode, and spark-merge of dubious consent.

“Hello everyone! This is your favourite telltale journalist, gossip tier, social media critic and weather reporter! Tracks from Channel V’s ‘Morning Cybertron’! Am I the first to say ‘Good morning’ to you today? I surely hope so! Now kiss your conjunx endura, rise n’ shine!”

“Usually, right after this I’d say oh don’t forget to watch our Morning News over your breakfast ‘cause, you know, gotta advertise your colleagues’ programme. It’s right in the script! But I bet everyone’s seen today’s big news already! Today’s special talk, we’ll be discussing on what the surprising revelation will lead us to, right in the middle of the heated election campaign!”

“Now let’s meet our two special guests! Decepticon poet, composer and also recently a band guitarist, Skybyte! Everyone, do yourself a favour and check out his new album!”

“And! Our most beautiful Autobot pacifist, bird whisperer, zoologist, and author of the recent bookstore best-seller _Tiny wings_! Hound!”

Megatron turns his optics away from the TV in disbelief.

“Skybyte is what now?”

“You heard him.” Optimus says.

“Yes. Am I supposed to find out important information like this on news now?”

“Greetings, you two!” Tracks cheers, “Look at you, aren’t you a lovely pair! Now, may I have to privilege to know what you two think about today’s little ‘morning special’?”

“Calm down.” Optimus says, “It’s a talk show. It’s hardly official news programme.”

“Then why are we watching—”

Skybyte is the first one to speak.

“Well, isn’t it lovely to wake up and find out the world is on fire? Not a first for me but still it gets on the nerve. We all remember the time when Starscream is destined to fall just one step from the glorious crown. A nominated senator has to temporarily resign if held responsible for a crime until the suspicion is cleared and senators on probation are not eligible to join the elections for the next Head of Council. That is, if he denies what was revealed in the video. And if he actually admits he’s responsible for the mass poisoning of GTooxo71 station, you never know, it’s Screamer, he’ll be immediately removed from the list and a new candidate will be nominated within a decacycle through vote.”

“Thank you Skybyte,” Tracks gives the cybershark a thumbs-up and turns the camera to Hound, “Now let’s hear the voice of pacifism.”

“There’s a regulation for a specific situation like this?” Megatron frowns, “Has this ever happened before?”

“Yes,” Optimus peacefully confirms, “Bombshell was charged with murder of an Insecticon during his election in the 1700th solar cycle.”

“What a surprise.” Megatron mutters.

“I’m more concerned about Prowl’s status.” Hound confesses, “Although he’s not a senator anymore, or nominated for the upcoming election, the revelation has indicated he has repeatedly breached the Treaty. With Megatron back to Cybertron, I’m afraid some of his followers will not be happy to hear that. Though I’m also aware Megatron has so far made no announcement about the attempted assassinations targeted at him. Perhaps the footage has been faked to begin with. I hope it is. I do not want to think we are responsible for the death of countless Cybertronians stationed on GTooxo71.”

“Hound.” Optimus sighs, “He will probably be very disappointed.”

“Talking about the big M.” Track lightens up. “Turns out he saved the day at the GT station. And if you look into the pseudonym Electon, you’ll find lots more interesting story than the one we’ve already heard. It looks like our old guy was responsible for the capture of a handful of most deadly fugitives across the universe, gained a medic licence for mechanic beings on Junkion, studied swarm lifeform on a forbidden planet, and runs an antique shop on Nebulos, all under fake IDs of course.”

Track puts down the piece of paper in his hand with a bright laugh.

Very slowly, Optimus turns his face to Megatron, his face featuring an expression exceedingly obscure.

Megatron tries his best not to look.

“Last question comes from our loyal audience! The No.1 question from this morning’s forum discussion thread! Who do you think would be nominated in replace of Starscream if he falls legendarily, again?”

“Senator Onslaught, maybe?” Hound answers considerately. “Onslaught has been a regular constant to the political circle. His past actions have proved to us he is a mech of intelligence and devotion. I believe we can always play safe in these uncertain times. I’d vote for him.”

“I’d say Senator Vedette.” Skybyte laughs, “The high council has been a game of the old high commands for so long. Maybe it’s time we make a change. We can use a new face.”

“Thank you Skybyte and Hound, for your sharing us with your opinions. It lights up my day and everyone out there? I hope you’re as ‘enlightened’ as I am. Now, it’s time to say thanks to our sponsors—”

Megatron turns off the TV before the commercials cut in.

The room falls deadly silent, only occasionally interrupted by the delicate noises produced by Ratchet performing surgery on Drift. Miraculously, Drift is conscious throughout the whole process. Ratchet cannot give him another dose of anaesthetics with the amount of relaxant he already infused his system with. And even more miraculously, Drift isn’t feeling any pain. The silent patient has made peace with watching TV during the surgery. He still stares at it even now it’s turned off. Ratchet on the other hand, is wearing an unreadable face as he welds his bullet wounds.

“Whoever leaked the video and put it on every surface to display,” Optimus finally breaks the silence, “is doing you a favour. The video stresses how both Starscream and Prowl cannot be trusted. The fact that they are also happened to be the two most acknowledged commanders from our factions who still stay with the high council, and how the video put you into a heroic role, are saying a lot here.”

Megatron leans on the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I didn’t stage it.” He says.

Optimus took his time to examine his face, then he says.

“It would be great to know who is your secret admirer now.”

“I do not have a secret admirer.” Megatron says.

“Not too long ago you insisted Soundwave is back on Cybertron.” Optimus suggests.

“I suggest you cease this theory immediately.” Megatron warns, “If he is, he’s not behind this.”

“He would.” Optimus says, “And more importantly, not many mechs can manage a system hack at this range.”

“It’s not him. Go name someone else.”

Optimus is about to reason with him when another voice rises from the other side of the room.

“It’s not Soundwave.” It’s Drift.

“Don’t talk.” Ratchet says, “Stop moving.”

But Drift continues to speak in a whisper.

“Soundwave was with me when this happened. He assisted in my scape. He lifted the bridge to guide us to safety.”

Optimus’ facial expression didn’t change.

“Drift.” He said. “The bridge lifts up every morning for traffic control.”

“He was with me up till we were at the top of the bridge.”

“I saw no one but you and your chaser.”

“But,” Drift insisted, his voice a bit higher, “you were led to me, right? You didn’t show up by accident.”

Optimus falls silent. Yes, someone hacked his channel during his search for Drift. It certainly wasn’t Drift. But could it be Soundwave?

“Drift,” Ratchet’s calm, unflappable voice cuts in, the soft beeping sound from his spark signal monitor in the background. “You have been dosed with both gaseous anaesthetic and relaxant during the past 12 hours. What you experienced during your escape might also have been part of your hallucination. A mysterious helping hand is a common form of it.”

“I…”Drift begins. He flinched and quickly cooed, trying to curl his body into smaller size when he catches Ratchet rising an optic.

Ratchet quickly backs down, burying his optics to Drift’s wound again, only taking more cautions not to raise them again this time.

“Keep going.” Megatron demands, “What about your vision of Soundwave.”

Drift nervously eyed Ratchet a few times before speaking again in a smaller voice.

“I…thought he’s my hallucination too, at first.” He says, “Then I think, he’s more likely a ghost that only I can see.”

Megatron let out the deepest sigh he’s ever heard. He turns away his face in dismay. Optimus carefully watches his every movement, remembering his confession the other night, he can tell Megatron is disappointed.

“No,” Drift protests loudly, “It’s not like that. I’m serious, I really am.”

A click in his stomach quickly reminds him of Ratchet’s still on-going surgery. His frame tightens, he watches Ratchet for any sign of disapproval, and finally stopped shaking when he found none.

Then in the lowest voice, he says.

“I have a rational theory, to back it up.”

Optimus closes his optics and opens again. He probably shouldn’t encourage Drift to talk in his state. He’s even not supposed to be able to talk. But seeing Megatron’s devastation, he encourages.

“Please share with us.”

There is a moment of silence before Drift finally says.

“I spark-merged with Rodimus before we split. We already had a steady spark-bond before that. So we can be with each other when we are not. And it was when Soundwave dived into my processor to sort out my memory that I recall, Rodimus told me he has spark-merged with Soundwave, too. Once. By the end of the war.”

Optimus can hear his own intake. It’s loud.

It’s Megatron who asked him. “Why?”

“To seal the deal.” The speedster stirs, “You know what deal.”

Of course. Of course Hot Rod and Soundwave had a deal. And of course they had to seal it with a spark-merge. What else can make them trust each other with their plan?

But it is Ratchet who finally snapped. The noise his wrench hits the floor is loud and thunderous in this occupied room. He spits his horror right in the face of Optimus and Megatron crystal clear with trembling anger that he can no longer contain.

“Is this what you teach your commanders in the war?” He asks, every inch of his frame burning with fury. He can no longer hold the torch he’s using, he throws it into the plate right next to his hand, “Merging sparks to compromise? Merging sparks with your enemy to make peace? Merging sparks to plot together against your superior commanders? Have you written a guidebook for new soldiers with spark-merge in the acceptable military negotiation category?”

And when he turns back to Drift the mech is a trembling mess on the operating table, hiding his helm under his crossed arms and curling up his knees when his pelvis plating is still half open. When Ratchet’s touch reaches his shoulder, he visibly shudders.

“I’m sorry.” He begs. “Please don’t lock me up again.”

All the anger in Ratchet fades away and leaves him with a cold burn. Regret packs up his spark so tight, yet making it feel impossibly empty.

“I’m not angry at you.” He promises, “Never at you.”

On the other side of the room, his two sources of anger stand in silence. Not long after Ratchet finally coaxed Drift to sleep so he can finish his work, the crew of the hospital sends him a reminder to ask him to come for the shift he’s already late for as soon as possible.

“We’re having another outbreak.” First Aid said, exhausted.

“Don’t you two dare to leave this room today. I don’t want my office flooded with journalists.” Ratchet warns them before he leaves for his shift.

Once they are alone, Optimus sends the city garden office a leave notice before turning off his comm. After a while Megatron turns the TV back on. The Council has called for a crisis meeting. He switches for the cooking channel then turns down the volume, trying not to wake Drift from his recharge. The two of them sit in the dark, watching Moonracer bake an energon cake from scratch.

After what seems like a lifetime of undying silence, Megatron asks Optimus how Elita One has been doing since the end of war.

“She got herself into the political circle.” Optimus admits, “I haven’t talked to her in a long time.”

“She’s disappointed in you?”

“I suppose.” Optimus nods, “She tried very hard to sign me up for the First Consultant position. After a while, I gave up pretending to be slightly interested just to amuse her.”

“She’s the one of spirits, as I’ve heard from Shockwave.”

“So is Starscream.”

Megatron nods agreeingly, “Do you think it could be her? She doesn’t strike me as the type who would happily work under Starscream.”

After thinking about the possibility, Optimus admits, “It is unlikely, but possible.”

“Even if it runs in my favour and drags Prowl through the mud?”

“She was very against the idea of Project Core.” Optimus comments, “Still is. And during his time in the political circle, Prowl has built the city on the success of the Project Core. Though he’s a merely the Council’s tactician now, he still influences the system by being the man who knows the supercomputer the best.”

Megatron nods ever so vaguely.

“Do you have something in mind?” Optimus asks.

“I didn’t expect you to talk so openly with me.” The ex-warlord says, “Especially not about your former colleagues, when it’s still very likely I could be behind all of this.”

“You are not.” Optimus says.

A shred of sadness slips Megatron’s optics, he hums to Optimus strange sense of confidence, but not quite acknowledging it. His optics float to Drift, the young mech lies peacefully in the berth, frame hooked up to monitors and IV drips.

“Drift can’t be treated because he’s the cure to the disease.” He says, “I brought him here so that in the worst scenario, we will use him to treat others again. But Cybertron has a much larger population than GTooxo71 station. I’m afraid even if we torture him to the very last drop, he still won’t help us all.”

“We won’t be torturing him.” Optimus says.

“With or without consent, torture is torture.”

“No.” Optimus emphasises, “We won’t let it go down that road.”

“So it’s ‘we’ now.” Megatron amuses, “What happened to your gardening plan.”

“I just resigned.”

Megatron tenses up, he raises his helm to meet Optimus’ gaze. The former Prime looks like anything but cracking a joke. Very hesitantly, he asks.

“Was it my ridiculous backstory that inspired you?”

“Maybe.” Optimus says, “Or maybe it’s Drift. He has been a Decepticon, an Autobot, a defector in his life. He has been poisoned, tortured, travelled across the galaxies, delusional with memory loss and a bunch of mechs hunting for him, half of which are alive because of his self-sacrifice, but here he is, still trying to find his best friend.”

Megatron stays silent for a while, trying to figure out what to say next. Eventually he says.

“Ratchet told me the panic room was built for you.”

“You two are really close.” Optimus jokes, “Is it a medic thing?”

“This is not funny.”

“People are allowed to have mental breakdown sometimes.”

“Optimus Prime is not ‘people’.”

“Don’t tell me you believe the religious part of the Prime lineage.”

“No.” The ex-warlord denies, “But I don’t think you really want this.”

“You are right. I don’t want this. I want it to be over and done with.” Optimus admits. “Just like our war.”

“That’s where you are wrong.” Megatron says, “Things like this are never over. Once you’ve got yourself into the dirt you’d never be able to pull out. Just like the old mess we used to call our Great War. Look at me, I never snapped out of it. And when I travelled across the whole universe, demand to see you, I thought you’d be the same. I expect you to be like me. I expect you to punch me in the face.”

Optimus frowns, “Have I ever punched you in the face as a greeting before? What gives you the impression?”

“You always look like you’re about to.” Megatron says, “I just think you’d loosen up enough to do it for once. If you did, well, I was about to allow it, just once.”

Slowly, Optimus says while looking at Megatron directly in the eyes.

“You know, if I punch you in the face after 700 vorns of radio silence, it should probably be for a different reason. What do you think I was imaging doing when I punched the walls in that room?”

Megatron looks away, glancing in Drift’s direction to check his IV.

“It’s not too late to get one.” He says.

“You know what I was thinking when Ratchet dropped that wrench.” Optimus looks in the same direction, at Drift, “You know you were thinking the same thing, too.”

Megatron says nothing.

“The second day into the discussion of actions,” Optimus reminds him, “Remember that one time I offered to spark-merge with you to have things settled.”

“Optimus—”

“I can’t wrap my head around it. Maybe Hot Rod got the idea from me. He got a lot of wrong ideas from me.”

“Optimus—”

“Only that he actually did some of those.” Optimus sighs, looking at Megatron in the eyes once again, “And I got rejected.”

It takes Megatron a long time to ask him.

“Is it why Ratchet got so angry at us.”

“I heard I was rather talkative when I panic in there.” Optimus suggests, “I’m not sure. But I suggest we keep Ratchet in a better mind from now on. I have a bad feeling about everything now.”

“I have a feeling,” he says, “what happened to Hot Rod and Soundwave maybe even worse than what we’re witnessing with Drift.”

Megatron pauses before admitting, “I have a feeling Starscream is framed.”

Optimus raises his head.

“He is way more aware of the possibility energon poisoning and the Core’s recent flaw earlier than anyone else.” Megatron explains, “And if he rises to power, he’ll put his thoughts into action. Whoever they are, they probably want to remove him.”

“We need to help him.” He concludes.

Not far from the both of them, the baking lesson is over and an urgent news session cuts in out of blue. It shows Starscream in cuffs, surrounded by journalists and their microphones. However, the ever fabulous red seeker looks nothing but untouchable.

“I, Starscream,” he begins, “accept all charges pressed to me by the Iacon Law Enforcement. I have agreed to resign from my job as a senator as well as withdraw my petition to the next Head of Council.”

So, already too late to plan on saving his senator aft now.

“However,” to everyone’s surprise, the now former senator continues, “as regulated by law, a resigned senator is entitled to nominate a candidate for upcoming vote. The regulations cannot, and will not be able to remove my nomination from the name list.”

“I, Starscream of Vos, former leader of Decepticon, Air Commander of Cybertron, resigned Senator of the High Council, nominate Megatron of Tarn, to join the upcoming election.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about politics. Don't take it too serious.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for keeping you guys waiting. Reality got my tongue.

Optimus almost had to strap Megatron down to the operating table to keep him in line. The ex-warlord has been restless ever since he heard what Starscream announced on TV. He tries to break out from this supposedly hidden quarters and leave Drift to Optimus. But Optimus keeps trying to reason him back into his senses.

“A mandatory nomination doesn’t mean you have to join the political circle.” He tries. “It merely means you have to present yourself at the campaign. People can still vote you down.”

“You talk like presenting myself at the campaign isn’t already big-deal enough for the mess we’re in.” Megaron growls, “And why do you have so many disturbingly specific regulations?”

“The council has been through a lot.”

“Good for them! I just need to speak with Starscream before it’s got torn down by its own people. I can’t care less about the regulations as long as they don’t regulate me!”

“Drift needs a medic here.” The Prime tries his best to calm him companion down in his serious voice, “I’m not qualified to treat him if anything happens.”

“For Primus sake, we are lying beneath a hospital.” Megatron groans, “You can’t run out of medics to pick!”

“But which medic is strong enough to hold him down, Megatron?” Optimus reasons, “And his presence is supposed to be a secret, remember? Starscream isn’t going anywhere. He just resigned and admitted himself to the enforcers’ custody.”

“Something is wrong with Starscream. Don’t you see? It’s now or never!” Megatron is close to fuming through his seams. He’s overheating from rage, “Starscream doesn’t just step down for me without putting on a fight. I need to know. I need to know NOW!”

“That was another time, Megatron.” Optimus persuades.

“Another time, not another lifetime!”

In the end, Optimus has to call Ratchet as Megatron requested, politely and over-tiredly asking if he can come down to watch Drift himself as Megatron is heading for a meeting with Starscream.

“I’m in a middle of crisis. We have a full emergency department of delusional over-charged ex-vets and a queue of journalists waiting to interview me for I don’t even know what reason,” Ratchet informs them, “Do I look like I have enough servos to deal with everyone’s tantrum right now?”

“You don’t understand.” Megatron insists. “You don’t know Starscream!”

“Right.” Says the medic. “Sure.”

To their surprise, Ratchet agrees to let Megatron go, telling them he’d send in someone trustworthy to temporarily take his job. Both ex-leaders waited anxiously in the hidden quarter for the new arrival and when the door finally opens, it reveals an unspeaking Skyfire. The tall, white shuttle stares at them with examining eyes, meeting Optimus’ surprised face and only slightly brushing across Megatron’s elevated anxiety before turning all his attention to Drift, checking his IV drips and pulse, making sure his frame is warm in his nearly anaesthetised state. He remains silent and unengaging which only visibly worsens Megatron’s paranoia.

“Aren’t you supposed to…” he tries, then finds himself embarrassingly stuttering. The leaked video has not-so-subtly hinted the nature of the relationship between his SIC and the Autobot shuttle.

“Starscream asked me to come here once the meeting is over.” The shuttle says, blue optics focused on Drift, “I have some medical skills suitable for emergencies. Ratchet says he can use a mech of my size.”

Yes, that surely solves the problem. Skyfire is the perfect fit for the situation. He’s big and strong and famous for his undying gentleness even during the war and he’s a scientist. Except he shouldn’t be here at all. He should be by Starscream’s side.

“Just go.” The shuttle offers, voice almost too sad. “He’s waiting for you.”

Optimus tries to reach for his shoulder but he waves him off.

“You should meet Prowl, too.” Skyfire says. “He has no one to talk to, and soon he’ll be put into a facility occupied by mechs he put in there.”

“Just go.” He says.

Optimus ends up driving Megatron to the city hall, can’t care less about half the city trying to chase his tailpipe and the other half taking pictures. By the time he drives past the CBD he even finds himself on the biggest LED screen, rolling wheels on live with a less than happy Megatron sulking on his back.

“This is insane.” The ex-warlord murmurs. “You shouldn’t have come with me.”

“They will find out one way or another.” Optimus says.

The elite guards agree to let Megatron meet with Starscream before the seeker is taken into custody. The news agencies want to record the meeting but Optimus begs them down. When Megatron finds Starscream in his office gathering his belongings between two fully armed guards the seeker pulls his classic overdramatic face on him as if it’s just an average day in his life.

“About time!” He says.

“You need to explain yourself.” Megatron warns. “Especially regarding some political nonsense you just made an announcement about.”

“Or what?”

“Or these guards won’t be able to stop me when I rip your wings off.”

The seeker’s wings twitched involuntarily at the frame memory from the bunch of times when his plans to overthrow Megatron severely backfired. He lowers his helm but keeps his optics glaring up.

“Listen,” he says, trying to sound as honest as he can, “I didn’t order the GTooxo71 station being turned into an experiment field.”

Yet Megatron only stares. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Starscream however, looks like he’s just been stabbed in the gut.

“You,” he tries, “you what? You believe I’m not? Just like that?”

“Hurry up, Staracream. I don’t have all day.” Megatron hushes, “I demand to know what you are cooking up this time.”

“Wha, what?”

“The nomination.” Megatron is tempted to strangle him with his own hands but the thought of Skyfire watching over Drift now haunts his processor. It makes no sense. Nothing is making sense this cycle. “There has to be a reason.”

“I nominated you so you can use it to your advantage!” The seeker screeches. “To find whoever the pit is behind this!”

“Now that’s a statement from you I’m not buying.” Megatron points out. “You hate me. You want nothing from me.”

“People out there want to see us fight. They did a great job piss me off so far so I’m not letting them have what they want.”

“Oh Starscream, I’m wounded.” Megatron laughs, “Since when you grow pumps to hate someone more than myself.”

“We’ve managed a few successful deals so far.” Starscream huffs, pretending to be unintrigued.

“Not without enough trading materials.” Megatron says.

Then Starscream says nothing. His glare dims and his vocaliser silences. It’s almost like that time they talked in the café all over again. One klik the seeker is his dramatic self the next he’s a fire in a cage. The bright red ball of fire still, but on top of a weeping candle. It’s so alien and new at the same time. It reminds Megatron of Soundwave, as if his SIC and TIC have merged into one and the sophisticated enigma is staring right at him from his past. The seeker says nothing in return but he continues to stare at Megatron. It suddenly hits Megatron what part Skyfire is playing in the grand scheme now. There still is trading materials, heavy valuable cargo in this part of the bargain and it’s Skyfire.

“Well, whoever is behind this, I don’t like them. And I want them to pay, both for ruining my career at the wrongest time and for what they did to the GT station.” The seeker finally speaks, his voice impossibly low, bitter and wary, “I want to give him my worst nightmare.”

“Who is my worst nightmare then?” He asks, voice trying to hit his peak playful venomous pitch but not quite getting there.

In the end, it sounds a lot like a plead in disguise.

Megatron remains silent on his way back to their small flat uptown. It’s already dark outside and Optimus has spent too much time dealing with the unwanted attention and screen time. Ironhide, as the current leader of the elite guards, had to help push them through the exit. To Megatron’s surprise, Jazz was standing by Optimus side when they met up outside. The small spy cast the ex-warlord a smile that he couldn’t quite figure out the meaning of. Guess someone still cares about Prowl, after all.

When they finally escaped the noisy crowd in Jazz’s handsome favour, they find themselves driving on the lonely road home in the dark, unoccupied side of the city, with only each other’s company.

It’s Megatron who finally speaks up.

“I always know they were close. I just never thought…”

Optimus says nothing, patiently waiting for Megatron to find enough words.

“Never thought Starscream is capable of doing it.” He eventually whispers.

“Skyfire made an effort.” Optimus finally speaks. “It’s not like Starscream just decided to turn into someone else the moment you left.”

“You know from the beginning, didn’t you?” Megatron asks, “When I was panicking about what that sorry seeker is cooking up in his mind you already know he was merely feeling desperate. When I still assumed he is plotting a power play you already know he had Skyfire’s safety in mind.”

“It’s only natural.” Optimus says.

“Yes. And annoyingly easy to figure out. It was right in the video.” Megatron agrees, “They mean it as a threat and Starscream is scared. Now we have two mechs to keep safe from the unknown.”

After a while he murmurs.

“I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out first instance.”

“Which one is troubling you,” Optimus asks, “Not knowing Starscream enough to understand his actions. Or unable to put it together soon enough.”

“Both, I guess.” Megatron says. He brushes his faceplate with his thumbs, trying to wipe off certain memories that keep flooding back.

“I have a confession, Optimus.” Eventually he admits, “Last night you said you think Hot Rod got the idea from you. But I think it was Soundwave. I think Soundwave asked for the spark-merge.”

The truck drives ever so steadily.

“He used to bring it up.” The ex-warlord says, “Being a host mech, his spark is designed to support other sparks, pumping up energy like a life support in deep crisis. In our early days he used to bring it up to me. Every time I turned him down, until he stops bringing it up. He was young back then, young mechs act strange every now and then after all. He grew out of it. He gathered his herd of cassettes, properly binding with each of them. And the Decepticons benefit enormously from their bonds.”

“But I was wrong. He asked me again.” Megatron says, “One last time, he opened his spark chamber right in front of me couldn’t care less about what everyone else was thinking, right after I beat the living slag out of him after we returned from the meeting.”

“I imagine you turned him down.” Optimus says.

“I turned him down.” Megatron admits, “He looked at me with these bright, eager eyes, his mask discarded and his visor shattered. I’m sure most of the Decepticons have ever seen his face for the very first time that day. I assumed he wanted to show me his raw, unyielding loyalty through his spark. He has always been over enthusiastic about these sorts of things. I suppose being forged telepathic can do that to you. But at that time, I had less than no interest in his intensions.”

“Why now?”

“The Starscream that I only recently got to know reminds me of him.” Megatron says, “I thought about that very night too often from the right beginning, during my days drifting across the stars with nowhere to lodge my ship. I loathed Soundwave for vorns, blaming him for everything. But after the first hundred vorns, I suppose…I suppose I figured I could have gotten it all wrong. Maybe it wasn’t because he wanted to lift my spark from death if I dare to fall on him, or his obsession with loyalty and extensive mutually understanding.”

“Maybe he just loved me a lot.”

Soundwave watched the guards guiding Starscream to the transport vehicle. Prowl is already there, sitting silently in cuffs. No one is speaking to the tactician although pretty much everyone has known him for a long time.

“I suppose this is it?” The police car raises his optics.

“Patience.” Starscream laughs, “Patience.”

He acts tough but his mind is an open book to Soundwave. Guilt is drilling deep and still drilling deeper into his bleeding mind. The seeker is barely holding himself together from the possibility that GT station’s crime may as well be at least partially his fault. He tries to distract himself from the thought by secretly planning on weeping to sleep in his special brig tonight, fluxing his favourite memory with Skyfire. Skyfire is always the good part of life even if they don’t always get along. Soon the enforcers will have his comm. device deactivated. They will have Soundwave deactivate those for him. Soundwave the supercomputer who can’t say no to any direct orders because of being a computer and all that. Funny that on a planet inhabited by a mechanical species who are basically humanoid computers powered by a mysterious ball of fire, no one has thought about the possibility of a sentient supercomputer yet.

Except for maybe, Shockwave and Bludgen, who baited him with his cassettes, captured him and built his processor into the computer’s mainframe as well as professionally liquified his spark to pump through the massive circuits that run beneath the whole city. Drift is pretty much living on his excessive spark energy generated by the massive amplifier called the Core, through their mutual bond with Hot Rod. The ex-Decepticon has no idea he’s literally hooked up to the entire city for life support but he’s better kept that way. He’s sent here as a beacon of crisis and a cry for help, he already served his purpose at heavy cost.

And about the rest.

He stands beneath the bridge he destroyed the night before, watching the law enforcers gathering remains of Drift’s chaser. He follows them to the morgue, waits for whoever shows up next. The law enforcement departments are all conveniently equipped with terminals of the Core, even portable ones. He will have to use both his invisibility and limited mobility to the maximum in order to find who’s behind this. Fortunately for him, Shockwave’s hacking portal, though comes with payload, is very duble. He managed to alter his victim’s processor just enough to harbour his presence. Whoever comes to collect it, will have to carry Soundwave on the shoulder.

Yet still, he was surprised to see Jazz when the door opened.

The ex-spy obviously isn’t invited here. He quickly plugs a memory stick to the medical port behind the mech’s damaged helm and starts downloading. Once he’s finished downloading, he uploads a self-destruction virus to the processor and leaves the morgue with what he came for. Little does he know he isn’t alone this time.

The ride with Jazz is a pleasant one. The ex-spy has a good taste in the music he plays and he knows the secret to every successful infiltration is “not-to-hurry”. Soundwave enjoys his company as it reminds him of his golden days, even though he wouldn’t risk diving into Jazz’s heavily modded firewall. Their swift sweep across the city gives Soundwave the first-in-a-lifetime experience to see the street scenery with his own eyes. It is much more beautiful than what he’s heard behind the walls. To think all of this has been literally built on him makes him proud and at the same time, immensely sorrowful.

Nevertheless, he has a mystery to solve, before Ratchet discovers what’s written on Drift’s spark chamber and slag hits the fan.

The night just keeps getting better and better when Jazz enters the door to an underground club and Bludgen shows up to great him. Soundwave can feel his entire frame tensed up even though he doesn’t even have one. A torturer of Soundwave is no ordinary title even vorns after the war, but he had enough of those in his life as a Decepticon and before that to care about making them pay. The murderer of his cassettes, however, is a title that burns. Maybe Primus has finally took pity on him and decided to give him the chance for revenge. But before that, patience is the virtue.

“I’ve brought what you’ve asked for.” The ex-spy smirks, “Now are you going to show me to your master as promised?”

Bludgen, ever the silent killer, simply cast him a glance.

“You haven’t proved yourself worthy.” The Decepticon says, “Not before you secure Shockwave’s escape.”

Jazz seems unaffected by his decision but still pretends to be disappointed just to amuse him.

“Ah, and here I thought I’m good-looking enough to charm my way in. But alright. Guess I’ll charm my way into the brig then. It’s all the same kind of job.”

Knowing the Autobot spy, Jazz’s whole body and mind both scream an infiltration. But no, Jazz isn’t on the list of any form of registered agents of Cybertron. If someone has registered him, Soundwave or the Core, would have known. Which means Jazz is voluntarily participating in these crimes, with no lawful exemptions applied, and no backup to look forward to. Why? What got the retired spy so flustered and worked up to the extent even though he ditched Prowl ages ago but becomes willing to join this all on his own.

Is the mech behind all of this so untouchable? Or do they have any hostage on board?

A gentle brush on Jazz’s mind gives Soundwave no answer to either. As the ex-spy leave the room, Soundwave is left behind and about to find out the answer on his own. Soundwave superior. He follows Bludgen all the way down, to the even lower level of the club.

He finds a lab down there, and a face he can recognise.

In his amputated state, Rodimus briefly opens his optics to look at him. There are too many cables connected to his helm and still counting. Some of them, as Soundwave recognises, are actually installation portals of the Core.

“Now let’s try this again.” Bludgen carefully picks up something from the table. A micro-driller screams happily when he turns on the battery. “The old Core has served his purpose, but there is only so much a natural telepath can do for us. The city can use a new one.”

“Tell us, will you? Where is the real deal. Where is the Matrix of Leadership. Tell us or I’ll have you reunite with Soundwave. Do you think he’ll be happy to see you, Rodimus Prime?”

To his surprise, the young Prime actually smirks at him, staring at the empty space between them and with a weird, victorious smile on his face. The face Soundwave is gently reaching for, cupping with his invisible palms, and stroking with comforting care as if he just found a lost cassette.

 _Oh, Bludgen. You don’t know the half of it._ His mind happily whispered, leaning into the telepath’s touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats! You've just found your Roddy boi! Problem is? You are a computer and he is a prisoner.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the feeling I should add more tags.

While Bludgen continues to drill his eye socket, Soundwave shelters Rodimus in a temporary sanctuary within his own mind, shutting out the pain fluxes to a data void. They will have to bounce back when the link breaks, but for now, Rodimus can have a moment of painless peace.

“So,” the young Prime begins, “it is true then? He really built you into the central computer processor unit alive.”

Slightly embarrassed, Soundwave nods to confirm.

“I can’t imagine what it’s like for you.” Rodimus nods along sympathetically, “I mean. He doesn’t even seem to realise you’re here, which I suppose, is a good thing right? In this situation at least. But seven hundred vorns? I have no idea what keeps you sane!”

“Soundwave: can say the same to you. Query: how long has Rodimus Prime been kept captive.”

Rodimus makes a thoughtful face.

“18 months, maybe?” He says, “In case you haven’t noticed, my memory bank is a mess. I remember leaving my crew to distract our enemies.”

“Soundwave: met Deadlock.”

“So he made it!” Rodimus cheers, “I know he had it in him! That’s my second-in-command!”

“Deadlock: suffers serious memory loss, traumatised and barely alive.”

“Well,” Rodimus laughs, “I’m barely alive. You are barely alive. He is, I guess the alivest of us all.”

Soundwave lights up his visor in consideration. Eventually he agrees.

“Statement: correct.”

“Yeah.” Rodimus laughs, but soon enough his temporary cheerful smirk fades from his face, and he looks at loss, “I suppose you can’t really get me out of here. You know, being a computer and all.”

“Soundwave: unable to reveal identity to others. Actions: forbidden by base coding.”

“Slave coding then.” Rodimus acknowledges, “They’ve been trying to reprogram me to get the location of the Matrix. I saw some of Bludgen’s special re-mix, they are really nasty. I know I should have made you come with me when I had the chance.”

“Rodimus: would have been unable to leave with the Matrix if accompanied.”

“True.” The young Prime says, “But still worth trying.” Then slowly, he adds, “Optimus would have tried.”

Doesn’t want to talk about Optimus, Soundwave tilts his head and switches the topic.

“Effort: appreciated. Soundwave: request to know more about the situation.”

Rodimus gives him a faint smile.

“I guess since you’ve met Drift, you already know about how we both headed to DK-27 and met each other on the way. How we found home there and built a business with what we have.”

“Affirmative.”

“Well,” Rodimus’ smile saddens, “Here’s the thing. 23 months ago, DK-27 died.”

“You sure you want to do this now?” Ratchet asks, making Drift comfortable by offering a few more cushions. The medic’s eyes are layers of exhaustions, lights growing dimmer as their talk drags on. But Ratchet won’t tell him to shut up either, not after trying to get him to talk for days. His rough day spent on the surface of the planet isn’t relevant down here, where mechs take shelter.

“I’d better have you hear the story before I forget again.” Drift whispers, “Now my processor is the clearest in decacycles. I have to tell it to someone I can trust.”

The name Megatron went unsaid between them and Ratchet let it pass, unwilling to bring it up.

“When I heard about the Treaty meetings, I defected and left the Decepticon ship I served on all on my own.” The speedster says, “I feared the future. I hated that future. I was furious because a truce means a war can never be won. I was furious because Megatron agreed to sign it. I was reluctant to claim a place on Cybertron managed under such measurements. But, however I managed to defect only in the heat of the moment, I needed a destination.”

“So,” Drift stares down, nervously rubbing his own chin, “I headed for DK-27.”

Ratchet winces at the name.

“I know.” Drift nods understandingly, “The Decepticons pretty much slaughtered the whole planet, destroyed a whole civilisation of non-affiliated Cybertronians. I was there, I fought the battle myself, along with a squad of Autobots led by Rodimus himself, while the rest of you watched.”

Ratchet has to put on a frown to mask the shame his face is about to show. He wasn’t there when the battle happened, but being a close friend of Optimus himself, he already knows the whole story. An army of Autobots sitting around watching an army of Decepticons slaughtering a colony of aggressive neutrals as self-defence, isn’t even the worst part of it.

“After the battle we were tired, damaged, under-fuel, and outnumbered,” Drift’s narration continues, “by you people, of course. Not gonna lie, I mostly expect the Autobots to let us pass because we pretty much saved you guys and all that. When I was told we are under attack, I thought Optimus finally picked up some bad habit from us.”

“Was Prowl’s idea.” Ratchet says, “Prowl ordered it. Not Optimus.”

“So I’ve heard.” Drift nods, “That self-righteous overweight police car told his men we striked right? Then naturally you guys thought you were under attack. Well, so did we. Really foolish of you guys to think we’d attack an unharmed army with a handful of mechs half of who were missing some limbs, but I guess it was probably out of habit. What a mess we were in back then. Megatron was comatose, and Starscream was dealing with the wreckers on Junkion. Even if he agrees to help, he wouldn’t make it in time. I had only one arm left and Soundwave was, well, a spymaster is still a soldier but not exactly the frontliner type. At the end of the day, he had to lead.”

“But he got you out.” Ratchet says.

“Yeah,” Drift nods,“ Eventually, we got away from the Autobots’ grip riding a big, fat miracle. Only that it wasn’t a miracle.”

“Hot Rod cut that deal with Soundwave back there, didn’t he?” Ratchet says. “He lent you time. That’s how he and Soundwave hooked up.”

“That, too.” Drift agrees wryly. “But bit more.”

“DK-27 had something special to offer?”

“Exactly.” Drift admits, “On our way escaping the attack, we went underground, where we found out the secret of DK-27’s twin cities. It turns out they were built on an energon mine. I don’t think I’ve ever seen something like that even back on Cybertron. Soundwave ran a diagnosis on the drilling system. It was more than just a mine, it was a regenerating field of energy. And that’s how we managed to eject ourselves from the planet.”

“Dift,” Ratchet frowns, “Energon mines cannot regenerate itself. Once harvest, it becomes dry until it receives the next seed. Only energon rivers are regenerative and the flow will have to come from the Allspark itself.”

“Yes.” Drift says. He points a finger at the medic, “Yeah, that’s exactly the point.”

“And this happened on DK-27?” Ratchet asks.

“Good thing Megatron wasn’t online to see that.” Drift confirms, “That’s why we kept it a secret. Soundwave, Rodimus, myself and the other survivors, we all kept our mouths shut. The colonists of DK-27 possessed a quantum engine built to locate the Allspark and flowing a river of energon out of it, like a super spacebridge and a tracker combined in one. I guess that’s why they thought they could defeat us. In a way, they had the Allspark with them.”

It takes a long moment to sink in. To think that there were a group of Cybertronians capable of building something so powerful, so useful, yet they still got themselves killed in the Great War, with nothing but a story left to hear about, from the mouths of so few unreliable narrators including Drift, who isn’t in the right mind most of the time, and Rodimus, Soundwave, who went missing hundreds of vorns ago.

“So that’s why you headed there.” Ratchet speaks up, “You couldn’t have Cybertron so you settle with a piece of it.”

“I settle with whatever keep me properly fed.” Drift says. “Rodimus cares about nostalgia and Cybertron. I just wanted a place to stay. And things to drink, to eat, to cover myself with. I wanted a shelter when it rains. A shelter that won’t be destroyed because people feel like it. I wouldn’t admit it but I also wanted someone else under that shelter with me, too. Someone who wouldn’t pack up and leave when the rain stops.”

Drift’s life goals are questionably cheap. Ratchet finds himself dwelling on it. He pushes it down his throat and says.

“Keep going. What happened next?”

Drift smiles this time.

“Good things happened.” He says, “First, we built a station from scratch. Then we set up communications mostly because, well, Rodimus still wanted to get Soundwave here. But the message ended up inviting more rogues like us to drop by. Autobots, Decepticons and everything in between. Some of them stayed. Then we expanded our construction site. Sometimes we go on rescue missions too. We end up having more mechs to keep. After a while, we realise we now have a small town to run. It was a lot of fun, like running a secret society. All of us avoided Cybertron religiously. Some just wanted to keep their own people safe, like the Circle of Light, some just too scared to interact, like those bounty hunters, the mercenaries, the scavengers, some got literally abandoned by their own faction, like the survivors of Garrus-9. We had fuel, we had a planet, we had what remained of a highly functional colony, what more to ask for, right? Except we still do. Cybertron had all of those too, and Cybertron still had to buy from others.”

“Spare parts, missing technologies, medical supplies, some precious metals that the soil of DK-27 lacks but essential for the treatment of common Cybertronian malnutrition.” Drift explains, “Then, you know the drill. Had to start importing by exporting. Then soon enough, you’ll need ambassador. But embassy is too risky, we had to cover it up with something else. So off-world merchant it is.”

“So Rodimus became mysterious merchant ‘Flip Flare’.”

“Here’s the thing, Ratch,” Drift smiles, “Flip Flare isn’t some mech. He isn’t ‘a mech’. The name actually refers to a group of people who all claim they work for Flip Flare. But in the right beginning, the name means him and me, the two of us. You don’t just get your order delivered, you’ll get your own customised version of Flip Flare himself, too.”

“Rodimus wanted to use ‘Flame. I told him it’s too lame and, people will assume we are from Caminus. But he just wouldn’t stop bringing up every word about fire. So I said, maybe, Flare. Then he said how about Flip Flare. Because the name is us. You’ll flip it, two sides of a coin.”

Drift tells this part of the story with a smile on his face that gets even wider when he mentions Rodimus. Ratchet turns his eyes away.

Drift seems to have understood his unease, but maybe unable to decipher why. He lowers his head and his voice, wipes that smile off his face.

“Well, but all good things have to end.” He says, “DK-27 station was actually the first energon poisoning case. You see, our situation was a lot less complicated than Cybertron or GTooxo71, we only use our own fuel. So there’s no doubt it was our own river of energon that did it. It was chaotic. People went mad, everyone of them. It was like the worst parts of the war relived and they happened all at once. People died, the colony got destroyed again. But it didn’t take us long to realise, Rodimus and I are immune.”

“I wouldn’t say you are immune, Drift.” Ratchet points out, “You still display symptoms. Just a lot lighter. I’d say you have resistance. It could be a rare result of long-term conditioning.”

“Well…Rodimus and I actually thought it could be the Matrix,” Drift says, a little bit embarrassed to subtly hint that he and Matrix-bearer clearly bonded, “But whatever it was, we were desperate enough to take extreme measures so we had Flatline test out our serum on captured individuals. And it worked, it’s all that mattered. We ended up saving 65% of the population to pick up the pieces. Then we realise we were faced with a big problem, and, an even bigger problem, followed by the biggest problem, ever. Because, first, we no longer have a home. Not just the city itself, the planet’s source of energon was also destroyed during the battle. Even if it wasn’t, we wouldn’t risk our lives drinking from it anymore. Second, we exported energon to the GT station without knowing about its poisonous nature.”

“And last,” Drift sighs, “our energon river, technically flows from the core of Cybertron itself. So technically.”

“Cybertron is in big trouble and they don’t even know that.”

“So we packed everyone onto a ship.” Rodimus explains, “A really big one. I didn’t see that coming. Drift kinda just pulled it out of his own pocket. It’s like a city station, but with thrusters and engines, and it floats. We made a plan, we were heading to Cybertron, passing by GT galaxy first to deliver the antidote made from our serum. But before we could take off, we were under attack. They demanded us to hand over the Matrix of Leadership. So a change of plan before it’s even put into action. What a day.”

“New plan: split?”

“Correct.” Rodimus smirks, “They didn’t know we had an enormous ship and they didn’t know how much of us survived. We went hiding in that hole you guys dug when you escaped the planet. The one with a launch platform really well-hidden. Then I told the others, I gotta go out myself to distract these people. They’ll chase me down for sure. Meanwhile, Drift will depart in a small ship to GT galaxy with the antiserum. Once that armada hovering over DK-27 went after the two of us, they wait until they are gone and launch the Lost Light, head for Cybertron.”

“Station ship: slow. Likelihood: the last to arrive.”

“Yes.” Rodimus rubs his face, “They still haven’t arrived yet, have they? But for now, no news is good news. That’s why Drift had to make his way here to let people know something’s wrong ASAP. And some people, like Bludgen, are using the situation for their own good. I still don’t know what they want yet. But seeing you, hearing about the Core, putting it together with the fact they now want the Matrix, too, I guess they were planning this much earlier than any of us imagined.”

“Jazz: engaged.”

“He is?” Now Rodimus looks a bit confused, “Well, he came investigating the Flip Flare guy vorns ago. I didn’t know if he was under Prowl or Optimus’ command to check on me or just plain suspicious. Then one day he just, disappeared. I always assumed he sorta figured it out, but left us be.”

Chances are Jazz is, and probably also was, under no one’s command to investigate. He and Prowl were not on good terms at the time, arguing too much and too often about Prowl’s never ending, resource-wasting assassination attempts on Megatron. Soundwave has watched too many of their fights to care, as if they can ever get to Megatron in their dreams.

But given the current situation, Jazz, being the furthest away from the political centre, but with resources and a typical spy mind, might be their best shot to get Rodimus out of here.

Carefully, Soundwave asks, “Query: how much longer can you resist.”

Rodimus gives him a wary smirk, “You mean how much time before I break and spill the beans.”

Cautiously not to provoke the poor prisoner who he has no means to save for the time being, Soundwave confirms, “Affirmative.”

“About that.” Rodimus taps a finger on his own helm, “Actually, I can’t. I came up with this wildest and cleverest idea when I launched myself to the laps of my enemy. I hid the Matrix away and deleted it from my memory bank. I don’t even know where it is. So even if they hack me, break me, or whatever they want to do with me, they’ll get nothing at all. They are barking at the wrong door.”

“Drift was the scout and Lost light is the real army. This is what I am,” The young Prime smiles, “A distraction. A means to buy us time. And I plan to buy a lot of it.”

The link spits statics, it will break in a few kliks. Soon enough Soundwave will be forcefully summoned back to the mainframe located beneath the Council Hall and Rodimus will be ejected to the physical torture taking place in the bunker.

“Soundwave: will get you out.” The ghost promises. “Rodimus: will live through this.”

That’s your Soundwave telling you don’t die on him. Rodimus wonders if Megatron used to get this a lot.

“Thanks.” Rodimus winks and blows him a kiss, “Say hello to Drift for me when you can and tell him I love him. And don’t worry.”

“I’ll get you out of here, too. Fingers crossed.”

Outside the telepathic link, Bludgen’s driller is getting near.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much a whole chapter of narration and nothing more.  
> I like the dynamic of MTMTE/LL Rodimus and Drift. The two dorks trying to build a civilisation from scratch and run a business under the same pseudonym pretending to be the same guy sounds hilarious to me so I decide to write about it.  
> Ratchet might have misunderstood the nature of their relationship tho. It sounds a lot like the two are star-crossed lovers if you rely on Drift's "positive energy" kind of narration. But I like the idea that it never crossed their mind because in this AU's scenario? They are just too stupid to think on that emotional level.  
> Sometimes I feel like Megatron and Soundwave beams the same energy. Megatron is too caught up in his emotional disability and Soundwave generally has no idea what's the difference between friendship and romance.   
> They all need their emotional support old men to knock some romance into them.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: attempt at humour

The next morning, Skyfire who’s been stuck in Ratchet’s hidden office wakes up to Megatron and Optimus arguing.

“You can’t be serious.” The ex-warlord claims. “You can’t seriously think I should put up a campaign for the election.”

“It’s the rational solution.” The ex-Prime explains, “If someone with foul motivation is interested in the same position and we can’t figure out who quick enough, the fastest way to cease his rise to power is by putting someone trustworthy in the position.”

“How dare you call me trustworthy!” Megatron snaps.

“It’s meant to be a compliment.” Something in Optimus’ voice suggests he’s running out of patience.

Ratchet appears at the door with a tray of morning treats clearly prepared by the hospital’s cafeteria. The ambulance looks beyond tired after a long night of talking with Drift. He mutters unfondly.

“This might be a soundproof secret base but still part of hospital property. We have patients here. You’d better respect the rules of no yelling.”

Optimus snickers and Megatron growls.

“Morning.” Skyfire greets.

“Morning,” says the ambulance, “Thank you watching over Drift for me yesterday. I didn’t plan for you to become part of the medical crew when you first came here.”

“Your patient luckily slept through his recovery.” Syfire says, “I did nothing more than watching his face.”

In the other medberth, Drift nervously whispered a “creepy” into his mug of hot medicine drink.

“He’s lucky to have you do it for him.” Ratchet laughs.

On the other side of the room, Megatron shots him a look mixed with irritation and a pinch of unresolved guilty.

“So,” Skyfire begins, “Starscream agrees with Optimus.”

The room falls silent.

“What?” Megatron asks.

“Starscream didn’t tell me much of his plan. He usually doesn’t talk about it too much. But he did let me know about the basics of his plan this time.” The shuttle quietly continues over a cup of morning treat, “He would like to have you bid in the campaign, at least for the reason of providing distraction.”

“You mean he would like to put me on a billboard because I’m a colourful, big target.”

Skyfire shifts his legs, looking down on the floor.

“You are a target no matter what you do.” He says, voice barely a whisper but everyone in the room hears him clear.

After a long pause Megatron says, more like a statement than a question.

“And you seem fine with his plan. Confident enough to go with it. I’m afraid I find it hard to believe.”

“You don’t know me much.” The shuttle says, “You are in no place to judge where I place my belief.”

“You and I both know it’s not you that I judge.” Megatron warns.

“You don’t have the right to judge Starscream, either.”

“Enough.” Optimus snaps, “If you are unwilling to put on a political fight, you are free to do it your way. None of us have the power or will, to force you do anything.”

“Talking about power and will,” Megatron turns his attention back to the old Prime, “why don’t you join the campaign yourself? As far as the treaty is concerned, you are perfectly eligible. Imagine it, people will be thrilled.”

Optimus tries to pull his lips to a half-amused smile, but fails to do so.

“I’m unemployed.” He says, “and you are insufferable.”

“If none of you are remotely in power,” Drift cuts in, “I guess I’ll go find Rodimus on my own.”

“You’re going nowhere with that brain damage of yours.” Ratchet warns.

“Why?” Drift raises his voice a bit too high, “Because any of you acts like you’re interested in the fate of his? Or the people of DK-27? Or any Cybertronian colonies out there? Have you ever thought about where did all those who went missing during the war end up? Sure, we were good at hiding, but truth is no one really looked for us out there anyway. Some mechs waited for years after the war’s over and the rescue never showed up! Soldiers, commanders, technicians whose names probably got crossed the moment their presence was no longer required to win the war. I can understand no one gives a slag about where I went! But Rodimus? 700 vorns and you guys say his name like he is, he’s some sort of taboo!”

The room falls silent again, even Skyfire looks quieter than ever. Drift clenches his fists, suddenly aware that Skyfire may not even know about the whole situation at all. He’s a true civilian who only got dragged into this muddy mess yesterday, merely because he truly loves Starscream and nothing more. He buries hi face in his own arms in shame.

“You have to,” he whispers, “you have to let me out. If you don’t plan to do it yourself.”

Ratchet walks to him and places a hand on the speedster’s forehead.

“Of course we will do everything we can.” The ambulance says, “We’ve been avoiding the mess we made for too long. It’s about time some of us try to make it right for a change. Have some faith in us, Drift. Some old mechs you met in your life have spent their lives running from responsibilities, they regret it now, starting from me.”

Still uncertain but couldn’t resist the warmth, Drift leans into his touch.

“I can help.” He insists. “I’m more than a container of antiserum. Last time I left this building someone came running, we can use this to our advantage. I can be the perfect bait.”

“No.” Megatron sighs, “I’m the perfect bait.”

Then he points at Optimus, “And you. You are employed now. You are my campaign manager, end of story. Anyone else try to guilt-shame me for one more time today, I swear to Primus I’ll overthrow another government right into their face.”

To say Shockwave is thrilled to have Prowl be his brig neighbour is quite an understatement. He’s been babbling on and on about Cybertron’s future for over a dozen of cycles and Prowl is barely here for one day. The ex-enforcer begins to think the prison warden specifically put him into this predicament. Contrary to common belief, he’s perfectly aware mechs compare him to Shockwave too often to his likings, and they even called the two of them the least liked political figures of all time. Prowl has no doubt he himself has been doing far more better than the ex-Decepticon, until now, when he finds himself sitting in the brig, forced to listen to Shockwave’s theory about ambiguous science with no better thing to do.

“In conclusion,” The one-optic mech finally says after his long session of analysis, “when a processing unit’s sensor nodes exceed the density of 60% of an average Cybertronian, it is highly likely it becomes self-aware. And if given the certain steady rate of expanding its EMF range as a result of reconstruction, reprogramming, or system merges, it can remain a certain degree of sentience, or, at least, support this degree of sentience.”

“Primus.” Prowl mutters.

Shockwave’s optic lights up and he adds delightfully.

“Indeed, Primus might be the outcome of such constantly reconstructing self-awareness, giving that our planet is a massive computer system and consider us Cybertronians as neuro nodes.”

“Primus help me.” Prowl curses.

“Though in my theory,” Shockwave continues, “Primus may truly exist, I highly doubt he would like to help you.”

Prowl lets out the most pitiful groan. Somewhere down the hallway, some prisoner laughs.

“Try not to talk back, ex-Senator! You can do it! Ex-senator!”

Someone giggles loudly and the voice sounds horrifyingly familiar. Prowl closes his eyes, trying his best to disconnect himself from the reality.

“Why did Starscream get his private brig?” He mutters.

“Because our resigned senator is a suspect under investigation,” the wary guard says out of boredom, “You however, are waiting for trial. Court-martial trial. The court protocol hasn’t been activated for 74 vorns by now and is still regulated by the Treaty. Unfortunately, Mr. Starscream still has a seat in it.”

The police car curls his knees under his chest and wraps himself with his own arms, pouting over the mess he’s got himself in. And in the end, Starscream is still more privileged than him.

“Don’t worry.” Shockwave merrily goes on with his talk, “If you are unfamiliar with my theory, I would never blame others for not being a genius like myself.”

“Is this a challenge?” Prowl mutters.

“Don’t talk back.” The guard hisses.

“Merely a suggestion.” Shockwave comments humbly.

“Well for starters,” Prowl spits, “if your theory is true, the Core is self-aware enough to support about 20737 Cybertronians’ sentience and it’s still expanding in size as we merge more civilian networks into its mainframe.”

“Fascinating.” Shockwave comments, “As I recall, the number is about 7.4% of our current population. And each upgrade will result in the capacity become doubled. By this rate, 4 upgrades and we will be able to support the whole population, theoretically.”

“Theoretically,” Prowl snickers, “it’s not like the processor itself is without limit. The mainframe wasn’t designed to support too many non-military modules.”

“I’m well aware.” Shockwave adds, “Every attempt to double the neuron density is over-risky once the capacity reaches its 80%, which is, close to a Cybertronian titan’s brain module but requires 1000 times the processing speed.”

“Is this confidential information?” The guard hisses.

“Diving into separate micro-processing modules all at once and integrate it into the big puzzle.” Prowl agrees, “The impossible task. Only a spark knows how to tell different micro-modules apart. And a self-awareness fuelled by a spark can’t complete enough dives in limited time.”

“Normal sparks can’t.” Shockwave adds.

Prowl narrows his optics. “What do you suggest?”

“Guys,” The guard suggests, “I don’t think you should argue over sensitive information in a compound full of criminals.”

“Telepathic Cybertronians are known to dive into mechanical systems in their surroundings non-stop by default.” Shockwave says, “And to help their brain module stay functional as you and me, their neuron network has different type of information-processing protocols which point itself to the void. To defend its own self-awareness from others, telepathic systems are extraordinarily good at processing non-local modules. They process other systems’ information in flying speed in a realm of serenity while their own thoughts stay intact within the normal time flow.”

“Moreover,” Shockwave continues, “The ability is purely managed by their sparks. Their frames are usually loaded with sensors, yet if you give them a new, plain frame without enough neuron nodes to do the same, soon enough, the spark will mutate the frame to grow the massive sensory network required to maintain that level of telepathy again.”

“Fascinating.” Prowl admits.

While Prowl is fascinated, Soundwave is annoyed. Surely Shockwave isn’t as proud of himself and his adventurous scientific exploration as he used to be, but sometimes, Soundwave is still tempted to snap his neck.

On the whole planet, Shockwave is probably the only mech that still has Soundwave in mind. He is somewhat obsessed with the idea that Soundwave is still watching over him. The sheer feeling of ultimate unknown has slowly driven him mad over the years, also painfully aware he’s never gonna find out. Soundwave isn’t giving him any hint either. The telepath may have grown used to his unusual state over the years, but he was plugged in here screaming, woke up crying, he spent the first hundred vorns of his ghostly state trying to find a way out, yelling at everyone passing by, whispering in tears, cursing. Who would have guessed what an emotional glitch he was back in the days when no one was looking.

And now, now Shockwave is gloating about his favourite theory with no experimental evidence again. Soundwave has to sit through this with Prowls while Jazz makes his move. And unfortunately, Jazz is incredibly slow. Out-of-characterly so even. Maybe he knows Prowl’s predicament and would like it to stay bit longer, little does he know Soundwave is rolling his optics in another dimension.

Unable to surface himself into the Iacon Prison due to the lack of nearby portals, Soundwave floats in the data stream within the mainframe while keeping an eye on everything. When he found Jazz hovering near the camera of a small bank not far from the prison, he knows where this is going now. The ex-spy is trying to get himself thrown into the prison so that he can break out from it.

A small favour to speed up the process can hurt no one. Mechs on this side of the planet obviously all need a few nudges in the helm. Soundwave taps in the emergency call to the nearest enforcer with a robbery report before the robbery ever begins. Then he pre-filed a brig assignment to the same area of Shockwave and Prowl. In up for some mischief today, Soundwave pulls Jazz’s social media account and DMs him under Prowl’s name, sending in a prison map along with a kiss mark. If people don’t give him the appreciation he deserves, he’s so gonna get everyone toasted by dawn.

In his massive ocean of data streaming, the TV channel pops out the newest announcement from Megatron. The ex-warlord has accepted his nomination and has agreed to attend the talk show tomorrow as the special guest. The current guest, however, isn’t particularly amused to share his screen time with the uprising competitor. Senator Vadette lets out a deep sigh when the host turns the camera back to him, wary, but professional.

“I see you have an opponent here.” The host muses. “What do you think, Senator Vadette?”

“I think having Megatron competing along with us means our society has made impressive progress with the peace we currently have,” The non-affiliated senator comments, “People have become more accepting, more sympathetic for each other, regardless of their faction, origin, or ‘background’.”

“But,” he continues, “I don’t think our planet needs another military leader turned senator. No one seems to notice we have military positions for these mechs to fall in and Megatron, was nominated as the very first Lord High Protector after the war, a position which he explicitly refused to take when he chose to flee the planet.”

“My opinion is, people should be more focused on civilian affairs now. Too much effort, too many talented technicians, and too many resources have been wasted on the defence system while all this time, all we need to defend ourselves from, is ourselves. I say we turn the confidential public and the secrecy discontinued, military technologies civilised.”

“The Core should no longer remains as our people’s grand manager, sitting on the throne where the Primes use to sit, answering only to the senators and enforcers. It should become civilised, divided, then integrated, to fit our people’s needs. To become _civil._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made up something called mercury milk a couple of chapters before.  
> Have you ever hold a container of mercury? It's thirteen and half times heavier than water, even heavier than lead cubes and it flows.   
> So you honestly can't judge its weight by looking at it. More likely if you hand it to someone who's never dealt with mercury before they may drop the container or fall with it. You gotta put it on the floor then ask the other person to pick it up.  
> Lead cubes are very cute tho.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. I had an interview the other day. Turns out it wasn't worth it.  
> Globalisation is great but you'd never expect you interviewers fail to inform what language they would like to hear and told you to switch language two minutes into the talk. And I'm positive they paid no mind to my talk at all. In the end they just told me they admire people who speak 3 languages and would love to get more of these. I thought you guys wanted a researcher??? One of the most confusing experiences in my whole life.

While Optimus is getting Megatron prepared for tomorrow’s guest talk. Drift and Skyfire awkwardly stares at each other in the room next door.

The swordsmech is all tensed up, he usually is these days. The shuttle looks friendly enough but his massive form says otherwise. It’s not like Skyfire really stands a chance against him in his peak state. But Drift is far from his peak state right now.

The shuttle is aware of his nervousness and offers some assurance.

“I’m here the same reason as you are.” He offers, “It’s not like I’m here to monitor your actions. There is no need to mind my presence.”

Drift gives him a wary smile, “I spend most of my time here lying down and doing nothing. The last time I felt adventurous I got everyone who has access to this room injured, including myself.”

“You can ask Ratchet for something safe and entertaining.” Skyfire suggests, “I’m sure he will be happy to offer you enough reading materials to occupy yourself with.”

Drift blushes.

“You think he will?” He murmurs, “I think he’s plenty mad at me.”

Skyfire smiles warmly, “I think he’s plenty in love with you.”

Drift lifts his head in surprise, optics burning bright.

“How can you tell?”

“The way he looks at you.” The shuttle explains, “It looks like he wants to wrap you up with a blanket, hug you tight and never let you go. Did you not notice?”

“I usually try my best not to look at him, especially,” Drift pauses, “especially not in the eyes.”

“Why?”

The speedster says nothing.

When it becomes clear he will not get an answer, Skyfire says, “Starscream used to tell me the same thing. I thought I was obvious enough and he thought he was pining.”

“I’m glad it worked out for you two.” Drift says. “But I don’t think I have a chance.”

“Then give Ratchet one.” Skyfire says, “Because from where I stand, I see he wants it more than anything now. Don’t you think he deserves a chance?”

Drift lets out a wry laugh, “It’s not like that. He’s turned me down a long time ago. He made it pretty clear he wasn’t interested.”

“Well,” Skyfire smiles, “then it looks like he wants second one? Will you give him the second chance then?”

“I’ll give him a hundred chanced and more.” Drift laughs, “But he’s already turned down a hundred offers.”

“Maybe it was all a hard-to-get,” The shuttle keeps smiling. “Maybe he wants a thousand ones. Will you give him a thousand chances?”

Drift falls silent. He presses his lips together, looking childishly naïve, like a sparkling who has just been told he has to get the vaccine shot today and he has to be brave for it.

He nods unattentively, his pressed lips parted again.

“Yes.” He says, a smile too sad on his face. “I’ll give him a million ones.”

The conversation being carried out in the room next door, however, is a heated one.

“Impactor is a senator? And the current Head of Council?” Megatron smashes the datapad to the desk, “And you tell me this now?”

“Megatron no one has assumed you haven’t already been informed.” Optimus puts a hand on his own forehead to stop it from overheating.

“What’s with you people and presumptions!” Megatron smashes the datapad with his fist once again, “I’m a fragging space antique dealer!”

“No one knows you are an antique dealer, Megatron.” Optimus closes his own eyes and rubs his own nose, “We only recently got to know you’re the registered medic who went to the GT galaxy and it was even on the news.”

“I haven’t confirmed I am.” Megatron waves a hand at the ex-Prime, “And I don’t plan to.”

“It is so far, your best marketing material.” Optimus elaborates, “Unless you give me something more shocking to work with.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” Optimus murmurs, “something you did during that slime accident? It looks like you’re the only mechanic being who has ever survived that planet. The local slime species are…intelligent as I’ve heard.”

Megatron actually flusters and stirs at the topic, “Rule number one, if you want to work with me, we don’t talk about the slime planet. We don’t even, bring it up.”

Optimus nods along. He grabs the next datapad with the title “marketing” on top of it, crossing a line of two.

“Sure.” He says, “Why don’t you want to confirm that secret identity is yourself? Is any civilised species out there pressing charges under the other name?”

“Not that I know of,” Megatron mutters, “I’ve been careful. I’ve never got caught so far.”

Optimus shots him a sceptical glance.

Megatron raises his arms above his helm in defeat, “But my shop, my house, my shuttle dock, they are on Nebulos! And if the Nebulons find out I’m Megatron, I’m losing all of those! Where do I return to once this fuss is over?”

Optimus’ tired glare slowly turns into something sympathetic, and he looks away with a frown.

“My place is available.” He offers, “You’re paying my rent anyway, since you hired me. You have to buy a new sofa by the way.”

Megatron shakes his helm violently as if he’s trying to shake something away. He takes a sip of tea to refresh himself then proceeds to the next datapad in the massive pile. Another senator, another potential enemy.

Then he smashes the new datapad right into what’s left of the previous one.

“Deatharus is a diplomat now?” He shouts out to Optimus. “Why? How?”

Outside the whole building, not too far from the hospital, Ratchet is enjoying his tiny bit time of freedom by venting foggy air into the sky. Mechs walk and run and drive and race past him without looking twice. There is a florist’s not far from where he’s standing, the typical kind of business you’d find near a hospital. They have a basket of small, white crystal flowers with tiny red tips, dripping dews by the street. There aren’t many of them left at this time of the day. Some flowers bud, sprout, bloom and fruit, some flowers live and die as flowers. You can no longer help them. They have already been picked.

After a moment of hesitation, the medic covers his coughing mouth with a hand and walks to it, wrapping his medic fingers around the delicate petals. The receptionist greets him with a smile.

Jazz is finally thrown into the jail, it is already at nightfall, when the office of enforcement is closing its daily business, when Megatron is still struggling with a speech to deliver for tomorrow’s talk show, with Optimus sitting by his side reviewing his plan to sell Megatron like a polished old product in its newest fashionable package, and Ratchet hovering over the button to the door to the hidden quarters, a bunch of flowers slowly dehydrating in his old hands.

“Enjoy your night!” The guard pushes him into the brig. “You think you’re an annoying thief smart enough to rob a bank and troll the entire Department? Try not to break spending the night sitting right next to the most annoying mechanical being in the universe!”

Jazz pretends to almost trip over just to amuse the guards. He blows a kiss to the friendly guard as the door is locked behind him. Then he proceeds to make himself comfortable in the brig, finding the most comfy spot to lie down and stare at the ceiling light.

His neighbour is surely a talkative glitch who wouldn’t shut up for 6 joors straight. His lecture on neurology is hypnotising enough to put a ruthless Sparkeater to sleep. Sitting right across the hallway is his neighbour, a very much gagged Prowl, glaring daggers at his talkative neighbour, suggesting his will to talk back, but hard to achieve such goal with his mouth stuffed shut. Obviously the guards could not have the same satisfaction with Shockwave himself for he has no mouth, and the Act defines vocaliser deactivation as torture.

Jazz is wearing repaint and heavy mods to disguise himself but Prowl recognised him at first glance. The poor police car tries to yell, at Jazz himself then at the passing guards, but no one’s answering his call. Not even Shockwave, who, since lives next door to Jazz, can’t really see who’s the other guy’s face. His ignorance didn’t last forever, once the lights went off and the mad scientist finally decided to lie down, he is greeted by the wide smile of the good old Spec Op.

“I did not expect this.” Shockwave admits. “How did you even get in here?”

“Where do I start?” Jazz grins, “Some mechs just don’t remember who designed these fascinating little brigs when Iacon was a fancy pile of scraps. And my ex-boyfriend was Cybertron’s most well-known control freak. You’d think I would leave myself a backdoor in the coding.”

Right across the hallway, Prowl makes the most aggressive, angriest muffled noise of disapproval.

Jazz winks at him. “Yeah, I love you too.”

“If you’re here to break me out of this prison,” Shockwave says, “I’m afraid I will not comply. I do not intend to leave my current home.”

“Tsk, tsk,” Jazz grins even wider, “Don’t I know that? Why are you in jail again? Murder? Kidnap? Plotting against the Council? Oh, did you invent something evil again? Nah, that’s too low-key for you, the big bad Decepticon boobie monster with a rainbow repaint! You’re here because you doodled 1000 Iaconian walls overnight with a hundred drones and you refuse to pay the fines. And here you actually earn twice the money every cycle by selling those drones you designed. But nah, you just like it here. You’ve got prison guards and brig mates to torture. College kids these days just keep leaving during your class. Where can these poor guys go? Big news, it’s a prison here!”

“You seem to understand me better than I gave you credit for.” Shockwave thoughtfully comments.

“News flash, I understand you better than I give myself credit for.” Jazz playfully nudges that rainbow coloured, oversized fuel tank, “I have something to give you. And I think you’ll just like it too much you’ll just walk out of the brig by yourself. Tomorrow you’ll pay those overdue fines and you’ll walk free on Cybertron.”

The ex-spy tilts his chin in Prowl’s direction, “And leave the two of us to have some alone time.”

The single optic narrows skeptically, “I hear you broke up with him.”

Prowl takes his glare to a new level of inferno and Jazz laughs.

“That’s the thing,” Jazz says, “I’m a mech with a reputation to keep. But Prowl, he’s a total miss on that bit and I absolutely adore him for that.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning he totally dumped me right into the Iacon sewers without ever looking back twice but I get to tell the story.”

That golden optic brightens up in realisation.

“Ah.” He says.

Despite Prowl’s glare and Shockwave’s amusement Jazz keeps smiling.

“Ah,” he mocks, “Ah indeed. Never took you for the gossiping type but that means just another thing I like about you these days. Now let’s talk about the deal shall we? Here’s the thing, someone wants you out of the brig to assist them in a project. They’d like me to break you out and deliver you to them. So that they’ll shelter you, give you safety but in exchange you’d work for them on a few, interesting little, very much _alive_ projects. On second thought, I ask myself, why not just persuade you to go out yourself, and let you willingly join their project so that I can get a little bit, just a tiny little bit more information on what the pit they’re up to these days?”

“You’re asking me to assist you in an infiltration.” Shockwave logically concludes, “Why?”

“Patience. We’re getting there.” Jazz laughs, “Have you heard, Shockwave? The Core is flawed. It glitches every now and then and it pranks. Your neighbour there can tell you all the dirty little details if you squeeze him hard enough.”

He gestures Prowl, who still can’t talk with the gag in his mouth.

“The Core is a haunted computer. And you look like a haunted mech. You keep yourself safe in these closed walls. You’re plenty haunted like a typical horror movie protagonist.” Jazz continues, “Is it just a coincidence, or is the ghost after you? Because as I recall, the last lecture you gave before you were kicked out of the Academy, was about supercomputer developing sentience. Why? Do you personally know this ghost? Who did you kill?”

Shockwave stays silent, his one optic giving out no clue.

“Here’s the thing Shockwave.” Jazz looks down at the ex-Decepticon thoughtfully, “I went out testing your theory today. And I was actually framed for an attempted robbery by the information operating system itself. It’s almost like the AI predicted my next move and called in early. And before I knew it, someone sent me a prison map under Prowl’s name. I’m sure as pit that Prowl over there, didn’t do it.”

Prowl narrows his optics, but this time, he makes no noise, suggesting a confirmation to Jazz’s prediction.

“See,” Jazz smiles victoriously, “I told you he ditched me. He totally wouldn’t help me on anything at all. I just can’t wait to spend some more alone time with him. Do you think I’ll win him over again?”

“Highly probable.” Shockwave agrees. “Yet my betrayal is also foreseeable, considering my appetite for _a few, interesting little, very much alive projects_.”

“Has anyone ever told you the way you talk these days remind people of Soundwave sometimes.” Jazz laughs, “Do you happen to know where he went? We can totally use his help here.”

Shockwave falls silent, he examines Jazz carefully, trying to decipher, yet the ex-spy is an unreadable book. Open, but unreadable.

“Very well,” he says, “your alone time with Prowl is guaranteed. From tomorrow. I’ll keep in touch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated!  
> If Megatron isn't buying that sofa soon enough they'll find themselves sleeping together.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of violence, torture, and mental illness

“And just like that,” Rodimus laughs over a cup of hot energon, “the Scavengers totally won him over. Can you imagine that? Big, scary Fortress I-hate-‘Cons Maximus, getting huddled by a flock of ‘Cons like it’s his safety blanket. We were taking bets on which one will he date. Big money was on Spinister when the Lost Light took off. Guess we’ll find out next time we see each other.”

“That is,” he pauses, swallowing down the bitter taste in his mouth, “if we’ll ever meet again, of course.”

They are in a simulation. The old guest room of Nemesis, equipped with heaters, dining tables, ovens and drink makers. The simulation took Soundwave vorns to build but he had nothing but time these days. Now this simulation is his favourite resort. The hostmech made copper flavoured hot energon before he invites Rodimus in. The green-ish drink was Rumble’s favourite, for all the wrong reasons but favourite nonetheless. Bludgen has left Rodimus on the rack to spend the night, dripping energon. Soundwave see it as an opportunity to seize the Autobot into this realm and took it. The two of them talked over a few cubes of warm drinks that never gets cold, exchanging stories, sharing a small basket of rusty sticks that quietly refills itself. Time has no meaning in this realm.

“You know that time we talked about our plans I told you it won’t go well for us.” Rodimus makes a small gesture with his hands that Soundwave doesn’t quite understand, “I said things would go horribly for us. We would die horribly. I didn’t expect this. For a time I was even confident, content with what we managed to achieve on DK-27. I dreamt of becoming a Prime when I was younger. It came true in the worst timing but I did become a Prime. I had my own people, I had a planet, I had my best friend by my side and there’s no war.”

He pauses, pinching his nasal bridge. “Then everything went down in flames right in front of my eyes. It felt like a punch in the face. It felt like karma. Like, the long overdue punishment for what I did to the people who trusted me.”

After a long moment of silence, Soundwave quietly murmurs an “agreed” before he takes another sip of his drink.

“I realise you’re no longer using your mask and that modulator.” Rodimus comments, trying to sound humorous but fails terribly.

“Technically speaking I don’t even have a face anymore.” Soundwave says, his voice raw and emotionless. He doesn’t even bother to sound humorous.

“Where are you by the way,” Rodimus asks, “like, physically?”

“Shockwave plugged my spark into the Core so that it will register the super circuit as my new body.” Soundwave explains, “To grow a neural network with engineeringly unachievable density, which means every cable, every circuit loop, every microunit of the city’s underground network is part of my body. I’m literally everywhere now, always listening, always watching, but never seen.”

“Wow.” Rodimus lets out a startled sigh, “Just, wow. I guess…be careful what you wish for, right? Look how we end up getting our wishes granted. Once we get ourselves out of here we’re so gonna find a movie maker for this. It’s gonna be hell of a horror show.”

Soundwave doesn’t show any disapproval to his ridiculous plans. Rodimus seems to be enthusiastic about building another new life with Soundwave once the situation is sorted out. He seems to plan to leave Cybertron again, with Drift, and Soundwave this time.

And Soundwave doesn’t want to break the spell by telling him how impossible it is, to pull him out of the Core while keeping him alive. The young Prime’s safety is his priority now.

“Query: do you have a plan?” He asks.

“My initial plan has 3 parts.” Rodimus sighs, “Step one, I get myself captured. Step two, Drift deliver the message and cure to Cybertron. Step three, we wait for Lost Light to arrive, so whatever Cybertron is faced with, they’re gonna have a ship of backup. But now, we don’t even know who we are fighting against.”

“Has Bludgen ever mentioned the name of the mech he works for.”

“Our relationship is awfully exclusive these days.” Rodimus sighs, “No third wheel mentioned.”

“I’m powerful enough to hack pretty much every system these days, only problem is I can hardly get in unnoticed with a dive that deep.” Soundwave thoughtfully explains, “Most mechs won’t know what hit them, but Bludgen was one of the designers of the Core. It’d easier if he’s focusing on something else.”

“Can you provoke him a bit?” The ex-spy suggests.

Rodimus grins, “Now isn’t that just my favourite part?”

Megatron spent the whole night being restless, wandering around and muttering to himself. Optimus was woken up by the sound of his pedes nervously stamping the floor quite a few times throughout the night but tried his best to ignore all of those. Somehow even if Megatron is aggressively restless, his presence is still soothing, assuring, a good influence on light sleepers.

The next morning Optimus asks him why is he so nervous.

“It’s only a talk show.” Optimus says as they drive to the studio early in the morning, the ex-warlord sulking on his back again and they are surrounded by the darkness of the dying night, “You gave many public speeches before the war. You were the gladiatorial pits’ champion even before that, it counts you in as celebrity. I head you even stared in a movie.”

“Which is why I know all shows are just that,” Megatron says, “for shows.”

“Shows are always for shows.”

“People die in gladiator fights and those were for shows, too.” Megatron asks, “Did you know that?”

After a long pause Optimus returns the question.

“Did you know the Primes were for shows, too.”

“I’m aware.” Megatron laughs, “You first time on the stage was ridiculous.”

“I tried to fix that.” Optimus laughs along, “I tried to fix a lot of things. But I guess in the end I was still more or less for show.”

Megatron tries to wipe that smile off his own face but failed.

“It was a good show.” He says.

The show they’re guesting is called “ _The Primitives_ ” hosted by a talkative minibot with a lowkey ground vehicle mode and a wicked tongue. His talk is strictly non-biased between factions as in he ruthlessly criticises the both of them. Nevertheless he was the first to reach out to Megatron after Starscream’s nomination. Since getting Megatron on an affiliated show is out of the question, they took the opportunity.

Trollwheel, the minibot host, greets Megatron passionately as the opening music fades and the live show begins.

“So, Lord Megatron,” Trollwheel begins dramatically, “are you ready for the most heated conversation ever happened on the surface of Cybertron?”

“I’d imagine it’s hard to beat that one speech Starscream gave me about kicking Luna-1 out of Cybertron’s orbit with a mobile spacebridge then murdering me with gravity on the way.” Megatron says plainly, “But to be fair, 5 miles above the ground probably doesn’t count as the surface of Cybertron.”

The audience laughed and so did the host.

“It must have been one pit of a conversation, considering our Luna-1 is still missing to this day,” Trollwheel states with a big wide grin, “but you are still alive and so am I. Maybe today, we are gonna top that one!”

The talk, despite everything, went smoothly. Trollwheel likes to play with words but Megatron is the Decepticon. He managed to get around the question about the identity of Electon and vaguely denied he’s been assassinated by Prowl.

“Half the universe wanted me dead.” He bitterly announces, “Do you ask the flea who sent you to annoy me when you crush them between your fingers?”

“Oh, I smell murder here.” The minibot smirks.

“There is no murder, I assure you.” Megatron merely points out, “when there is no dead body.”

“Perhaps that’s why we need to revise our law every round of election.” Trollwheel says passionately, “Don’t you agree?”

“Sincerely do,” Megatron says, “and the restrictions of murder is high on top of my to-do list once I’m with the Council. And trust me, my sheer presence will have everyone else merrily vote yes.”

Trollwheel laughs and Optimus lets out a relieved sigh. It looks like this will end peacefully. Soon they will get to the most important part, that is what they really came here for.

“How about you tell us a bit more about to-do list.” Trollwheel suggests, “I believe between you went missing and the war, a lot of us have been kept out of your loop.”

“Oh, I intend to.” Megatron laughs, “who am I to deny my people’s undying curiosity. After all, secrecy is what gets a government killed in cold blood, at least that’s what happened the last time.”

“And what sensational message have you brought us?” asks Trollwheel curiously. It’s hard to tell if he’s faking or being sincere.

“First I must say, during my lengthy trip across the galaxies, whenever I heard about the New Cybertron, I felt proud of what our people. Our race has suffered suppression and war, a majority of which at my own hand, but we still managed to unite, rebuild our home with what’s left. I must express my gratitude to those who helped our race through the darkest time, to reach the peace we currently have and then to a new age of prosperity, to achieve what I failed to achieve, to see what I fail to realise.”

“But when I landed on the planet, I became slightly disappointed.” He continues, “The disappointment in me grows as my stay becomes longer than expected. I cannot unsee what I witnessed on GTooxo71, I cannot unsee what became of the rogues who failed to return to Cybertron. And the Cybertronians here, do not seem to have a problem ignoring them. What surprised me, was people’s reaction to Starscream’s resignation, everyone seems to be overly concerned about the political impact of it, instead of what’s truly behind it.”

“And what would that be?” Trollwheel asks.

“I’m afraid more massive poisoning outbreaks will appear,” Megatron announces, “though residents of GT station may state otherwise, but all evidences now point to Cybertron, as the original source of energon pollution. However, our people here are currently in for some good luck, that our daily consumption largely relies on imported fuels and our exportation mainly goes into foreign industries. But by doing so, we put the lives of many others at risk, the Cybertronians who are still drifting across the universe, the ones who are stationed far away from home, the ones who live in colonies that are too small to be called colonies, too insignificant to have the luxury to choose what goes to the machines and what go down their intakes.”

“We have to be responsible for those who are still scared, who are weak, who are strapped to their own planets, stations and ships. We have to cancel the plan to process local fuels, and call off the trades.”

The silence in between is deafening. The shock, the doubt and the bitterness in the air is almost visible. Trollwheel narrows his eyes. Megatron is almost sure what he’ll say. He came prepared and he’s ready for this fight. Because there’s always this underlying question beneath the surface of Megatron’s every reflection whenever he speaks. It whispers: what makes you think you are the one to talk about _lives_? After taking so many.

It had no mouth, but now it does. It has Trollwheel’s mouth to use.

However what pops out of the mouth of the minibot is far from what Megatron had imagined.

“I cannot fail to notice,” the minibot says, “when we got in touch with you, we were answered by a familiar voice. Our resigned Prime, Optimus Prime has introduced himself as your assistant. And that he will speak for you. Is it true?”

Megatron restrains his every suspicious thought from surfacing. But he confirms.

“It is true indeed.”

“And that makes me wonder, and I’m sure it also makes a lot of mechs on this planet wonder as well,” The minibot continues, “does it mean your political ideas have combined, or if it merely suggests a scandalous relationship.”

“I do not see how the question is relevant to the situation.” Megatron says.

“It is not.” Trollwheel thoughtfully admits, “But I assume your relationship is one that desires devotion and trust.”

“As all forms of partnership.”

“Then what do you think of,” Trollwheel pauses, wearing a deep frown on his face as if being deeply concerned, “Optimus’ still ongoing probation for Cybertronian citizenship, as a result of multiple charges of assault pressed to him, but excused by his doctors as ‘result of psychiatric disorders’.”

Those words hit Megatron like a hammer to the face. However, he manages to collect himself quick enough to acknowledge the question.

“Very interesting assumption.” He answers, “but I’m afraid that does not affect the trust between us.”

“Of course,” Trollwheel agrees, his smile too bright and his optics too greedy, as if he’s looking at the trophy of a victory. “I wouldn’t imagine any less, with a history of four million years.”

It’s then when Megatron realises he has lost the game. The mech may not be a Decepticon but he’s a professional talker, and he’s already got what he wanted. From Megatron’s reaction he now knows Optimus kept his secrets from Megatron. That’s usually the best part of interrogation, you win when you turn your subjects against each other. And now Megatron just cannot shake the doubt out of himself.

The rest of the talk was all blurry.

When Megatron meets Optimus again at the studio’s exit, the ex-Prime looks uneased, and guilty.

“You didn’t bring it up.” Megatron says, suddenly too tired to sound accusatory. An unsaid “why” echoes between them.

“I thought it’s irrelevant.” Optimus says. “I’m merely offering assistance, unofficially, as your roommate.”

“You’d been the centre of power for long enough to know this sort of things aren’t irrelevant.”

“Maybe I was. Maybe it wasn’t.” Optimus nods unattentively, “But we got our warning message sent across to the whole Cybertron. That’s what matters. That’s what we came for.”

Megatron looks at him in disbelief, “Does my defeat mean nothing to you?”

“It was no defeat.” Optimus points out, “It was no fight, either.”

Megatron shakes his helm, “I made a fool of myself.”

“You did not.” Optimus reassures, “You look great during the whole show.”

“Not in front of them.” Megatron vaguely gestures to the busy road laid in front of them, then he vaguely gestures to Optimus, he suddenly shuts his mouth and says nothing in the end. He turns his eyes away from Optimus to look down at the ground. He looks hopelessly defeated.

“Let’s just go home, shall we?” He mutters, “Let’s just, go buy that new sofa you talked about and go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sofa will be a dark grey one that comes with square-y cushions of different colours. And it can turn into a bed. The pillow is light blue.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of violence and emotional abuse

They bought a sofa at the furniture store. Optimus wanted to pick the blue one but Megatron insisted they buy the white one. They argued a bit until the store owner got nervous, then they settled with the grey one and the owner gave them a few cushions as extras.

Megatron tied the sofa to Optimus’ trailer and they arrived home before noon.

Megatron spent the rest of the morning watching Optimus cooking lunch. The truck-former is a terrible cook. No one deserves to live on his cooking, including himself.

“I didn’t know you can put someone’s citizenship on probation.” Megatron admits.

“You can’t.” Optimus says, cutting the loaf of soft sodium into all kinds of horrendous shapes, “but they couldn’t put me in prison either.”

“The Treaty?”

“Term 73.”

Megatron steals a piece of snack from the basket under the table, “They could have banished you.”

“Term 1 says no one can remove me from Cybertron unless I agree to leave.”

“They could have made your life miserable.” Megatron says as he licks his fingers.

“They did.” Optimus says. They he went completely silent.

After a while Megatron begins. “You know it’s usually the time when you and I have a hearty talk. You used to love this sort of scenario.”

“Megatron I apologise if my past being much different from what you imagine makes you uncomfortable.”

“What did you do?” Megatron persists, “What did you break and who did you kill? Is this why they put you into a garden? Is this some sort of prescribed, mandatory therapy? Are you in trouble because I got you fired?”

“Why do you even want to know?”

“Am I not allowed to know you now?” Megatron says. “We even live together.”

“I merely agreed to let you live in my apartment until you find your place.”

“I bought you a sofa.”

“You broke the old one.”

The two of them falls into an uncomfortable silence, the pot on the oven hums as the steam inside trying to find the way out.

“You saw Ratchet’s panic room.” Optimus finally says, “You recognised those dents. It’s not like you don’t already have some idea about what happened to me.”

“You confirmed nothing on your behalf.” Megatron points out.

“You confirmed nothing regarding Electon’s identity.” Optimus shots back.

“Optimus you know I’ll probably find out every detail about what happened to your citizenship if I just take a trip to the library and read all the newspaper right?” Megatron taps one digit on the table, “But I’m not doing that. I’m asking you.”

“Despite common belief,” Optimus puts away his cooking knife, “we aren’t friends, Megatron. Mutual understanding isn’t required.”

He turns around to reach for the door of the oven when he hears Megatron says.

“Are we not? I thought I’ve made it painfully obvious.”

Then Optimus dumps the plate of terrible cooking from the oven directly into the trash bin.

“No, we are not.” He repeats.

Drift wakes up to Ratchet putting a few crumbled flowers into a vase next to his berth.

“They don’t look well.” The speedster whispers. “What happened to them?”

“I forgot these were on my desk and left them there for too long.” Ratchet lies, “I thought I might be able to rescue their health by hydrating them. I may be wrong.”

“You are not wrong.” Drift says, “Crystal flowers are tougher than their look. They will be alright. I’ll keep an eye on them.”

“Thank you.” Ratchet nods, “I’m relieved.”

“Good to see you are as caring as I remember.” Drift teases, “It must be hard to be so caring and a medic.”

Ratchet lets out a half-amused laugh, “You don’t know half of that.”

He hears Drift giggle.

“So,” the speedster playfully teases, “who is the lucky mech?”

“Hm?” Ratchet dreamily tilts his head.

“You bought the flowers, didn’t you?” Drift laughs, “Can’t deceive a Decepticon.”

“Right. I have a Decepticon in my medbay.” Ratchet laughs, “He’s so threatening and I should probably call the guards. Do you think Megatron will come to rescue if I ask nicely?”

“That’s not fair.” Drift frowns, “This is the part where you say you will call Optimus then I say he’s busy having an affair with Megatron so they’ll both leave us alone.”

“What is a punchline if it just states a matter of fact.”

“Ah,” Drift lets out a dramatic sigh, “you joke about our scary leaders to get around a question about the crush you bought flowers for.”

“I don’t need a crush to buy some flowers.” Ratchet says, slightly annoyed.

“So you did buy the flowers.”

The ambulance nervously snorts, his faceplate getting redder by the klik.

“So what,” he admits, “I can’t buy flowers for myself? I deserve some flowers.”

Then Drift laughs. The kind of laugh that Ratchet hasn’t heard in eons. The kind of laugh that Ratchet has _never_ heard.

“Yes,” The speedster says as he wipes the tears from his eyes, “Yes you do. You deserve all the crystal flowers in this universe. I’ll buy you so many flowers, once you discharge me from this medbay.”

Then he looks at the ambulance in the eyes and asks, the amusement in his eyes never fades, “But who knows about tomorrow. You never know what happens tomorrow or if there will be a tomorrow at all. So I say we do it today.”

He reaches for the crumbled flowers in the base and holds one in his hands.

“See,” he smiles, “I have a flower for you!”

His smile burns, and Ratchet can almost feel his optics melting by the bright heat. It takes all his self-restrain not to turn away, but in the end, he lowers his helm to shy away.

“The flower is dying.” He mutters, then suddenly too worried about if he just made himself sound unnecessarily angry. He peeks at his patient, and is once again greeted by that smile too bright.

“They are in good hands.” Drift says, smiling, “They’ll be good as new in no time.”

Then he pauses, Ratchet caught his smile twitching a little as if he’s making a confession too important for his plating.

“Will you take this flower,” he asks, carefully and unsurely, “when it’s properly healed.”

It almost takes Ratchet too long to find his words. He mutters a breathy “of course” quite a few times before he realises he has wrapped his own hands on Drift’s flower-holding fingers. Then he nervously licks his lips that are suddenly feeling too dry and answers again.

“Of course.” He says, voice suddenly too loud. “Why wouldn’t I?”

It is when his comm.link busts in beeping on his way to his shift that he finally realises what he’s just agreed to. The way the conversation was carefully plotted, the flirty tone he used, the smiling face and the starry eyes of Drift, everything was too perfect and blurry, and the question was just too metaphorical.

Maybe he’s overthinking it. Maybe he just did agree to something big. Something he shouldn’t agree to.

He turns on the comm.link and Optimus’ voice breaks the dam with a flooding passion.

“I can’t do this anymore.” The ex-Prime claims, his voice shaky and hoarse. He’s apparently unwell. “Do you have space for a third berth in the hidden quarter. I’ll, I think I should hop him off.”

It takes a deeper than usual breath for Ratchet to manage a question.

“Who?” He says.

“Megatron.” Optimus says, lowering his own voice as if trying to hide the information from someone.

“What happened?” Ratchet finds himself suddenly alarmed. “Did he hurt you? Are you in danger?”

“No.” Optimus says. It should be reassuring but the way his voice shakes sends shivers down Ratchet’s spine.

“I think.” The ex-Prime continues, “I think he is trying to build a relationship between us. I think I’ve sent him the wrong signals without noticing.”

Ratchet is at a loss for words, “Optimus, giving a lost spark a safe place to sleep tight and trusting him whole-heartedly when no one else does usually will have that kind of power. And let me tell you. It backfires.”

“Megatron doesn’t do relationship because of a narrow apartment and a temporary alliance.”

“No, but Megatron is the one being backfired.” Ratchet says, “It’s you I’m talking about.”

Later the same day, Megatron’s lecture warning people about energon pollution makes it to the #1 trend on social media, and it becomes the first thing Shockwave reads with delight upon his departure from the Iacon prison. The guards were so impressed they filmed his departure and posted it to the social media, too. It made to the #2 on the list of local discussion and someone begins joking about “the return of the ‘con revolutionists”.

Curious concerns about Soundwave’s whereabouts appeared briefly on the list then disappeared quietly.

“Efficiently removed as always,” some random ex-Decepticon comments, “Sometimes it feels like we’re still all under Soundwave’s supervision.”

He doesn’t know how right he is.

Jazz, however, becomes popular overnight, too. The hostile guards see him as a godly saviour who has been sent by Primus himself. A young enforcer even offered him an upgrade to better accommodation, but Jazz politely turned him down.

“Nah,” the ex-spy winks, “see that brooding jerk over there? That’s my boyfriend. I’m in it for love and you can’t stop me. Say, how often do you meet prisoners who robbed a bank just to reunite with their lost love behind the bars? Take a picture if you like, ‘cause I’m one piece of romantic art.”

When the guard happily runs off to gossip with the others, the two ex-Autobots are finally left alone.

“It’s ‘bout time, Prowler.” Jazz claims loudly.

“Time for what.” Prowl mutters.

“’bout time you oh-so-reluctantly apologise to me about being so rude during our last encounter and you never stopped thinking about me for the past hundred vorns.” Jazz announces, “Then I say ‘Same here, Prowl, same here’. And we have passionate, intense, loud, messy, shameless make-up sex on the floor.”

“No.” Prowls says. The hoarse declaration of denial echoes between the closed walls.

“Thought you’d say so.” Jazz laughs, too ecstatic to be truly pleased, “But don’t you worry, Prowler. Good ol’ Jazz’ got the situation covered. Hear me out!”

“I’m sorry for letting Megatron go. I’m sorry for trying to hide his whereabouts from your attempts to breach the Treaty. I’m sorry for allowing you to beat the slag out of me and dump me in the sewers without fighting back. I’m sorry for being unable to come up with a witty cover-up a story when I was lying unconsciously in the medbay to save your shiny aft from an angry Optimus who beat the slag out of you and got himself arrested, probated and his medical files being broadcasted all over the news.”

“And I’m so sorry,” he says, “for being so delusional and assumptious to think you’d come to me to apologise to me one day. And I even wasted 100 vorns waiting for that apology! But turns out it was all a waste of time. Now I’m feeling nothing but sorry these days. Every day, every joor and every klik, all I can ever think about is how sorry I am. So here I am, making the first move, for all the time I’ve wasted and all the vorns we could have spent together but didn’t. Because, for fuck’s sake, we are conjunx endura!”

“I’m sorry, Prowl, I really am. Will you forgive me for what I’ve done?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jazz is up for adoption


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: violence, non-consensual drug use, emotional manipulation, and domestic violence

Soundwave rushes all the way to Rodimus once he’s done with the information censorship, he skied thunderously through the hardware electricity and wireless signal emitters, trying to get to the young Prime as fast as he can. Because as far as the situation is concerned, this is their best chance.

Rodimus was only half conscious when Soundwave’s telepathy sucks him into the simulation world like a tornado, too shocked to register what just happened.

“Whoa, easy, easy,” he tries, “who died?”

Soundwave is all tensed up and breathing when he locks the door, metaphorically, since the door isn’t even real.

“Message: delivered.” The telepath declares, “Coverage: all Cybertronian media.”

“Message?” It takes Rodimus a klik to register what he said, “You mean Drift just called out to all of Cybertron and shouted out about the planet’s core being polluted at the top of his vocaliser?”

The image of Drift shouting to everyone on top of something high is hilarious, Soundwave has to swallow a chuckle.

“Statement: incorrect. Television: more effective.” Soundwave corrects him with a smile, “Humour: appreciated.”

“Drift starred in a TV show?” Rodimus startled, more amazed than anything. “Damn, my amica has got more pump in there than I gave him credit for!”

“It was Megatron.” Soundwave corrects.

“He went to MEGATRON?” Now Rodimus is even more amazed, “And got MEGATRON convinced? Damn, Drift definitely has more pump than the whole world has ever given him credit for!”

“Megatron isn’t that hard to convince.”

“Sure,” Rodimus laughs, “everyone knows you love him too much to admit he so much as having a stain on his plating.”

Soundwave makes a defensive snicker.

“You are in trouble.” He says.

Rodimus smirks, “ah, I see you still love him as much.”

“Not trouble from me.” Soundwave corrects, “Bludgen will not take the situation lightly. It means he’s running out of time.”

And Rodimus grins at the indication.

“Oh, you mean he definitely plans to spend more time with me.”

“You’ll see his methods intensify.” Soundwave nods, “Seeing your stubbornness is less likely to falter by physical torment, it’s more likely that he dwells on reprogramming.”

“I told you he’ll find nothing at all.” Rodimus says.

“Yes.” Soundwave nods, “But when the truth becomes revealed, you will lose your value as an asset.”

It takes a klik to sink in. Ever since their unusual encounter, Soundwave has firmly expressed his inclination to keep Rodimus alive. Though Rodimus has never mentioned this, he didn’t really place much hope in his own survival ever since his departure from the Lost Light. Nor does he possess will power to, up till the point Soundwave showed up and began pulling magical tricks on him that temporarily disconnect him from the tormenting reality of Bludgen’s making.

And hope is, sometimes scarier than despair.

“You know you never told me a thing about Optimus.” Rodimus says.

“I don’t like him.” Soundwave admits.

“You said you spent most of your life trapped in the City Hall. Yet you don’t seem to have much to say about Optimus. That is saying a lot, Soundwave.”

After a long pause Soundwave compromises.

“Optimus is alive and well. He stepped down from the political centre by his own choice.” he emphasises, “But he is helping Drift to find you. You need to take care of yourself, for your own good, and for them.”

Rodimus nods unattentively. He turns his face away, unsure if he likes what he heard.

“I promise I will pretend to be as useful as an ex-Prime should seem, for as long as I can manage. I won’t let him get to the truth that I know nothing without putting on a fight.”

“Good.” Soundwave compliments, as if he’s disciplining a wayward cassette, “And there is something more I’d like you to do.”

“I’m all ears.” Rodimus sarcastically sighs.

“I believe Bludgen intends to recruit Shockwave to work on your reprogramming.” Soundwave says, “Fortunately Shockwave has been compromised by Jazz. He will not to walk into this project completely blind. We can use him as a leverage to escape.”

“You expect me to deceive Shockwave,” Rodimus points out warily, “In my current state, I can’t imagine what I can possibly offer.”

“You don’t need to offer anything.” Soundwave says, “Shockwave has grown soft over the years. He’s secretly ashamed of his own expertise and tends to seek punishment. He’s obsessed with the possibility for the Core to support self-awareness and sentience. In other words, he’s obsessed with the possibility that I exist. Jazz bails him in with ambiguous proof of my interference. You can use this to your advantage.”

“You want me to sell you out.” Rodimus points out.

“When Bludgen isn’t looking.” Soundwave confirms.

The door cracks open, the two of them are snapped into the world of reality and see Bludgen entering the chamber.

::Remember that plan we talked about earlier.::

Rodimus whispers through the link.

When Bludgen approaches he is holding a handful of small boxes. Judging by the way his arms swing, the things inside is fragile and need special care to handle.

“I’ll let you guess what special meal I have cooked for you today.” Bludgen muses.

Rodimus can’t help but let out a muffled choking sound around the gag in his mouth. It is supposed to sound insulting, but his vocaliser is too weak to manage. It almost turns into a moan and Bludgen finds his reaction rather amusing.

“You have something to say, little Prime?” The torturer teases.

This time, Rodimus gives him a weak nod. He bites the gag in his mouth, fluids begin to drip down his jaw. It’s a degenerate sight, for the pleasure of his torturer. The ex-Decepticon is clearly pleased, he even takes a step closer for a better look. He takes his jaw in his hand to find a better angle to examine those watery blue optics. He finally lets go when the fluids begin to dirty his own fingers. Satiated, the scientist turns around to find a piece of cloth to clean his hand.

“I see you don’t like circuit boosters.” He laughs, “Perhaps Deadlock has rubbed it off on you. He always has a unique view of, neuronal medication. It’s a shame, for a fearless assassin like him.”

“I’m feeling generous today.” Bludgen puts down the piece of cloth and walks toward his victim once more, “Perhaps as a favour for mutual old friend, his remarkable durability has gifted us with valuable data. It’s a shame that we had to put him down, much like what we had to do with _the other one_.”

If Rodimus still has his arms, he would clench his fingers and punch that face a new one. Instead, he waits helplessly on the rack, drooling like a retarded turbofox. He bits the inside of his chin when Bludgen wraps his hands around his neck and finally, that gag comes off.

Bludgen waits for Rodimus to find his tongue again. He waits to hear what he has to say. He’s almost positive that he’s only in for another insult, a rather creative one perhaps this time. But it is only more amusing, and doubles the fun that comes next.

He is taken by complete surprise when he was hit but a mouthful of blood and spit followed by a hit by a blob of something sticky and soft, right into his face. It takes him a solid two klik to realise Rodimus just bit off his own tongue and spit it at him.

The rage in the room is fuming and intensify every klik in silence. Soundwave seizes the right moment and dives in when there is nothing but Rodimus on Bludgen’s processor. It only takes him less than a nanosecond to find the right place to dig. All the memories of methods of tortures on numerous victims have been activated and advertised like a light house on opening day. He finds so many faces in there, Rodimus, Drift, the victims the kidnapped on GTooxo71, the residents of DK-27.

He finds his cassettes there, tormented and broken, helpless but still spitting venom at their torturer, whispering praise and courage into Soundwave’s link.

“Don’t you dare give in.” Ravage whispered, “Don’t you ever dare.”

“You are better than this.” The twins said, “WE ARE BETTER THAN THIS.”

The aerial twins proudly chirp at him, flipping their broken wings, ready to fly. But he’s unsure where they are flying to this time.

He turns his optics away, tightens his one hand on the other, stopping himself from reaching for them. He knows he would follow them if only he is granted with a chance for one more touch. But there is no time for that.

He dives deeper and deeper until his pedes land on the solid ground of Luna 1.

A giant bridge right in front of him, wrapping around the sterilised dead asteroid like a morbid halo. And he is greeted by an army of faceless, motionless soldiers, frames identical to each other, guided by a familiar figure.

Sentinel Prime.

The Prime turns around, optics fixed on him as if he can see Soundwave right through, uncaring and unmoving.

And Soundwave froze.

The next thing he knows, he is ejected from the memory, back into Bludgen’s torturing chamber, looking at him filling up a syringe with an unnerving amount of liquid.

Purified Syk dissolved in high grade nucleon.

When Rodimus turns for Soundwave almost subconsciously, Soundwave closed his eyes and slowly nods a yes. The speedster gives him a cheering smile, he doesn’t know what is coming for him.

Soundwave stands there and does nothing when Bludgen empties the syringe into Rodimus’ energon line. He couldn’t bring himself to walk away. He knows where this is going. He watched it happen to his cassettes, he lived it through himself. He died receiving too many of those injections. He never really woke up ever again.

In less than a breem’s time, Rodimus is screaming agony at the top of his vocaliser. The circuit booster and nucleon have sharpened his senses to the extreme, every bare node exposed from his lost plating feels like being screwed over and dipped in acid. His processor begins to search for his lost limbs only to return him with an endless row of warnings. Bludgen then reaches for another syringe. This time, when the pointy tip of the needle touches his skin, the young Prime shivers violently and tries desperately to shift himself away from it. His vicious effort wasn’t made in vain. He broke free from the hook behind his neck and landed face down on the floor due to the lack of limbs, soaked in his own energon.

And Bludgen laughs.

Rodimus comes back to his senses not long afterwards when Bludgen begins to strap him down to the nearest operating table. He catches Soundwave staring.

::You should leave. It’s getting nasty too quick.::

He sends through their link.

::You don’t have to watch.::

Soundwave stands impossibly still.

Bludgen is running out of patience, he isn’t even making sure the needle goes into the right line. Soundwave watches him. And Rodimus watches back, blue optics now fixed on the invisible telepath, blatantly staring, but Bludgen simply assumes he’s staring at a hallucination. For a moment, Soundwave thinks he will call his name. But in the end, he didn’t.

When the needle breaks a third energon line due to Rodimus’ shivers and Bludgen’s impatience, Soundwave walks closer, presses a hand to the young Prime’s forehead.

“Shush.” He whispers. “Lie down still and relax.”

“They are fine. Everything is fine. Bludgen is lying.”

“Drift is alive, Megatron is on your side, and Optimus is on his way.”

Rodimus blinks at him, his frame falls still, his vents steady. He flinches when the needle finally finds its way in. His optics become misty, damper, then dimmer.

“And I’m here.” The telepath whispers, rubbing his invisible palm over his face.

“When the war was over, I thought I had it all.” Jazz says. “I thought I was lucky. Most mechs didn’t make it out alive. Half of those who did wish they didn’t. Many lost their loved ones during the war, the others lost themselves instead. But I was neither. I was still Jazz, one and only. And I had you by my side. I thanked Primus for that damn luck he gave him. I promised him I’d treasure it with my spark. But it turns out, I wasn’t all that lucky.”

“I thought you’d grow out of it someday, your insecurity, obsession, your hatred that you refused to admit you had in you. But I could feel it in your spark. And I saw it grow every day. I didn’t do enough to snap you out of it I suppose. Not so much as Optimus did, at least. For that, I’m sorry.”

“Optimus ruined his entire career and all future possibilities over his actions.” Prowls spits. “I told him I will ask the law enforcement to withdraw the charge. I won’t say a word to the court. I told him if he keeps his mouth shut he’ll walk free. I made the offer, he didn’t take it.”

“Yeah,” Jazz laughs, “that’s Optimus to ya. The golden convoy of the Autobots, the ultimate good guy, the big gentlemech. If he punches you, no matter how much you deserved it, he will apologise and take himself to the court to confess, let everyone else judge his crimes, and he will feel guilty for the rest of his life. Otherwise the universe ends. That’s the number one rule of our world.”

“I see you think I deserved that beating, too.”

“Prowl,” Jazz laughs bitterly, “I was in a coma and you were a senator’s mech trying to raise another war. Optimus was just a mech, a civilian with no army, no political power, no followers, no Matrix, but too many secrets, too many promises to keep, and two big iron fists. What else could he have done to stop you other than punching you to dysfunction then turn himself in to the enforcers?”

“I wasn’t trying to start another war.” Prowl whispers. “I merely wanted to make sure the peace stays. And with Megatron out there, with so many casualties, I can’t imagine a future that can last. I had to put him down or at least try. I didn’t mean to hurt Optimus. I didn’t mean to cast him out of the society.”

“I know. He deserves better.” Jazz nods, “He could have said you breached the Treaty. But instead, he told everyone he beat you up out of pure rage. He took the downfall and kept his mouth shut. He didn’t even mention that he did it for me. He gave the choice to me.”

He pauses then adds. “And I chose not to tell that story. I chose you over him.”

He waited, but there is no answer from the other side of the wall.

He then waits some more, curling up his knees to rest his chin, red visor flickering in the dark. And there is still no answer.

“Prowl.” He begs.

Still, there is no answer.

“OK, OK,” the ex-spy sighs, “you don’t need to say you are sorry too. You don’t need to say you forgive me either. I say I’m sorry, and you say, me too, or nod, deal?”

“I’m sorry.” He begins, looking across the bars.

The police car in the other brig however, isn’t looking back. His ex-lover curls up the same way he did, with his slightly bigger chestplate getting in the way. He isn’t raising his head. He isn’t answering to his quest. And however hard Jazz looks, he isn’t nodding either.

“OK,” Jazz nods understandingly, “compromises, more compromises. How about I say I love you. And you give me a nod so we are even and call it a day.”

Then he sits by the bars and begins waiting, staring daggers at the police car.

The police car, however, rolls over and turns his back on him. Fancy white doorwings twitch then still, silently facing the lover who once dedicated too many praises to them. They stay that way for joors until the dawn begins to break and Prowl finally, finally lets himself believe Jazz must have fallen asleep leaning on the bars. He thinks about turning around to peek, maybe he’ll be able to see his sleep face, maybe he will take a picture and save it in his memory bank. Or maybe he won’t dare. Or maybe he just _shouldn’t_ because he no longer has the right to do such a thing. But he wants to. He wants it badly.

Then he hears Jazz talking again, voice low but still clear, as if he knows Prowl is listening.

“I know what you are thinking.” He says, “You think you don’t deserve my forgiveness. So you won’t ever apologise. You want me to stay away for the rest of my life, like Optimus.”

“That’s where you are wrong.”

“Apology or no apology, I already forgave you.” He says, “All your stubbornness and self-righteousness, are only your means to hurt me more and more, day by day.”

Those particular words hurt. Prowl shuts his eyes to ease his own spark through the pain. When he swallows down the invisible slop stuck in his throat for too long, he finally manages to find his voice.

“Why tell me this now?”

No answer.

He waits a bit longer in the ominous silence and all of a sudden, panic washes over his entire frame and floods his spark. He turns around and there is no one in the brig. Jazz is gone, mysterious as the way he got himself in and Shockwave out. The emptiness in front of his eyes feels unreal, as if it has all been a dream. A dream that started out nice but is actually a nightmare in disguise. Then he finds a small something lying on the floor. He reaches for the shiny piece and examines it. It’s a crystal ring with his name branded on it. The “wedding ring” he ordered for their rite a long, long time ago.

And Jazz has left without it.

Outside Iacon in the low desert, Bludgen narrows his optics as he hears Jazz’s clip of recording.

In Prowl’s voice, it says.

“I wasn’t trying to start another war. I merely wanted to make sure the peace stays. And with Megatron out there, with so many casualties, I can’t imagine a future that can last. I had to put him down or at least try. I didn’t mean to hurt Optimus. I didn’t mean to cast him out of the society.”

“Perfect.” Bludgen acknowledges. “I would like to hear it play during tomorrow’s trial.”

“As you wish.” Jazz smiles. “Doesn’t hurt to play the same trick twice.”

“And that tracker?”

“Safely installed.” Jazz confirms, “Disguised in a really well-hidden design. And I made sure our tactician will never even dream to drop it.”

“Shockwave?”

“On his way here.”

“Very well.” Bludgen nods, “Now, welcome to the cause.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is SoundRod a ship now? Is it?


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. Reality got my tongue, again.

Megatron spent the night reading, yet entirely unsure what he’s looking for. Surely he isn’t going to dig Optimus’ social history since he promised not to, but what else should he be interested in? The history of New Cybertron is just an endless list of headaches in different names. Which one of these names is his enemy, or rather, enemies, is a mystery that keeps rolling bigger like a snowball in winter. To make everything worse, Optimus went as far as skipping dinner in his room just to stay out of Megatron’s sight. Megatron finds it ultimately annoying. He is positive whatever horrible story that Optimus is brewing in his stomach right now, he can definitely find a worse one in his own stock. After all, nothing can beat his marvellously embarrassing deal with the sentient slime species.

He thought about bringing the issues to Ratchet, but quickly shakes the thought away because Optimus is apparently talking to Ratchet himself and possibly failed to come to good terms with his best friend, leading to his self-imprisonment in his own bedroom and no one to yell at him for skipping supper. Megatron dares not anger the medic right now for he is one of the handful of allies they currently have. And chances are, in due time the whole planet will need medics.

Talking about alliance. It’s been a while since he last talked to his oldest friend. It’s only fair to seek the advice of his most trusted when apparently, his nemesis is doing the same.

“Soundwave.” He sighs, “I require your assistance.”

A data package is pressed to his HUB almost instantly as if Soundwave has been waiting for his request for assistance all this time, assuming it is Soundwave.

Very cautiously, Megatron opens the package and is greeted by layers of files signed by the Core’s signature, featuring history files of the past elections, along with news log reporting major events and results at the time. It is no different from what he’s been reading for the past few days but the order of the files, is rather interesting.

For one thing, Deathsaurus’ files are on top of everything else. The fact his citizenship begins very shortly before his nomination as a candidate fails to remain unnoticed. What makes him so special that he’s invited to the most important election of the planet, only weeks after his arrival?

A little bit digging leaves Megatron speechless.

Optimus is startled by the knock at his door. Megatron’s footsteps and knocking pattern are both as erratic as his personality.

Gloomily, he opens the door to greet his unwelcomed flatmate.

“How can I be of assistance.” He begins.

Megatron opens his mouth and closes it, he takes in a deep breath and leans against the doorframe, dropping every hint he’s not leaving Optimus alone anytime soon.

“I, uh,” he tries, dropping the hand holding the datapad which is apparently his source of panic to rest against the side of his body, “I just wonder if you want to get dinner.”

“I doubt if any oil bar is still open at this time of the night.”

“I seem to remember you have plenty food in your fridge.”

“You may help yourself to them.”

“I would,” Megatron agrees, “after applying some decent cooking skills for sure. But cooking for two is always easier. So I wonder if you mind joining me.”

Optimus shots him a sceptical look.

“And I take orders.” Megatron confirms.

Half a joor later they are both sitting by the table, a pot of freshly baked tungsten strings in creamy mercury with chromate dressing steaming vapour on the table.

“I kind of expected you to have a sweet tooth, not a sour one.” Megatron deadpans, “I hope it’s not a reflection of your current mood.”

“Glad to hear you are no longer entirely indifferent to your surroundings.” Optimus says, filling a plate of the warm pasta before handing it to his old enemy, “I apologise if my mood concerns you.”

“You concern me in general.” Megatron puts the plate down.

“Yes.” Optimus agrees, he nods to the datapad sitting on the table, “After reading this, apparently.”

“Optimus,” Megatron begins, “I assure you that is not your medical files sitting over there. This is about our alliance, and I have a point to make. I want you to see it for yourself.”

Slightly embarrassed but trying his best to not show, Optimus puts down his own plate of baked strings.

“And to what horrendous fact do we owe the crack on our brittle alliance tonight?”

Megatron sucks in a long sigh. He taps a finger on the edge of his plate.

“You did not inform me,” he pauses, “that you put Deathsaurus to his current position.”

“I did not.” Optimus denies, “His position in the Coucnil is his own achievement.”

“Yet you were the one who nominated him.” Megatron presses. “The emergency nomination protocol that Starscream pulls on me. You used the same trick.”

“Despite you expressing your little to no interest in politics so far, you did participate in the elections before. You were a candidate once, until you were charged with assault to a certain law enforcer. Then you took the charge, and nominated Deathsaurus who only arrived about a week before the event.”

Then Megatron stops to wait for Optimus, who is pre-occupied with his cooking, to respond.

After finishing a mouthful of the baked goods, the ex-Prime lets out a satiated sigh.

“You should open a restaurant.” He suggests.

“Flirting will get you nowhere.” Megatron says.

“Which part of the story interests you the most?” Optimus asks.

“It’d be great if you can start from your choice of nomination.” Megatron states.

“Deathsaurus was the political and military leader of a Decepticon colony located near the Rim.” Optimus pauses, “Still is, to this day. He seeks a relationship with the home planet when he arrives, demanding spacebridge technology specifically. Now he travels across the spacebridges he helped to build on daily basis to fulfil his purpose as a diplomat.”

“Let me get this straight.” Megatron frowns, “The Council gave him a citizenship and signed him up to be a senator, so that he can efficiently deal with the affairs between Cybertron and his own colony, but as a Cybertronian diplomat?”

“After the Treaty, the joined high command built a name list of all the officers who should be brought in for trials.” Optimus sighs. “They had the Spec Ops leashed out to track down these mechs. And if they remain at large after the hunt they are spontaneously claimed guilty, put to a kill-on-sight list or sentenced to banishment. Deathsaurus was on the list. Much like yourself, he showed up soon as his sentence was over.”

“And he walked to you?”

“He walked to Starscream, Starscream told me about his story.”

“So that you can nominate him when you get kicked out?”

“No,” Optimus explains, “Starscream tried to get me into the Council as a future ally. He gave me information on my potential rivals, so I’ll know what’s coming for me.”

“He sold his fellow Decepticons out to a Prime in order to feed his hunger for power.” Megatron sighs, “Typical Starscream.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Optimus plays with the tungsten strings with his fork, “he was beyond furious when I took the charge and nominated Deathsaurus.”

“Look where he is now.” Megatron laughs bitterly.

“And you are suddenly interested in Deathsaurus’ nomination because?”

“Have you never thought about the possibility that you could have been framed?”

“I know what I did.”

“Not that you hallucinated about beating a law-enforcer.” Megatron sighs, “Well, can’t blame you if you did. Enforcers usually deserve a beating or two on a daily basis.”

“Cut to the point.”

“Don’t you see the point here.” Megatron taps the finger on his plate, “If it was a calculated manipulation, then it worked magnificently. It kicks you, Prowl and Jazz out of the political circle in one go. Do you really not see the similarity to our current situation?”

Reluctantly, Optimus narrows his optics in consideration.

“I know you wish not to revoke the memory of the darkest hour of your political life.” Megatron stresses, “And social life, too. But your avoidance could be a calculated factor to our enemy.”

“Are you suggesting,” Optimus pauses, “that Deathsaurus could be our guy, since he obviously benefited from a situation that shares tremendous similarity to yours.”

“I won’t go that far.” Megatron admits, “If you look at it this way, I’m in a position quite similar to his and miraculously, the mess in front of us is doing me a great favour. But I’d like to claim I’m far from guilty.”

“A distraction.” Optimus predicts.

“Potentially.” Megatron agrees.

Optimus draws in a breath. He leans his back to the chair and frowns at the dining table.

“You want my judgement.” He states. “You want my judgement on Deathsaurus and the situation.”

“Yes.” Megatron says. “And I want it to be based on good observation, not a vision clouded by guilt such as yours.”

“I’ll admit.” Optimus sighs deeply, “This really isn’t how I pictured this conversation is going.”

“What?” Megatron fakes a startled voice, “Never expect me to stay professional as I promised? I told you I won’t dig for your medical file.”

“You hardly ever agree to stop until you get what you want.”

Megatron takes a sip in his glass, slowly, he puts the glass down on the table, next to his untouched plate of baked goods.

“So you are aware that I want you.” He says. “I almost begin to think I haven’t made it obvious enough.”

Optimus shakes his head. He then proceeds to add more food into his now empty plate, leaving none to the cook himself.

“Your cooking is good.” He admits.

Drift wakes up with a choking sound stuck in his throat. He almost rolls his way down the berth but Skyfire managed to catch him in time. The speedster drops into the strong servos of the massive shuttle, blue optics looking at him with deep concern.

“What happened?” Skyfire tries to pacify his struggling frame. Ratchet is away on night shift. “Do you need anything?”

Drift manages to squeeze a few words out of his mouth between his heavy breaths.

“Something bad is happening.” He grits his teeth, “I can feel it. They did something to him. They _are_ doing things to him.”

“Rodimus?” Skyfire’s concern grows deeper, a hint of panic begins to fill his voice, “Is his life in danger?”

“Yes.” Drift nods, drooling uncontrollably into Skyfire’s palm, “I, no.”

“Drift?” Skyfire shakes the small helm against his palm, “Drift stay with me, I’m calling Ratchet.”

“I know this feeling.” The speedster murmurs. “It’s nuke.”

“Ratchet this is Skyfire calling.” The shuttle taps into the CMO’s frequency, “Drift is experiencing spark pain, presumably through spark synchronisation.”

Ratchet whispers a short “on my way” before turning off their line. A few kliks later he bashes into the room with a handful of spark stabilisers.

“How long has he been like this.” The medic quickly checks his optics before turning on the EKG.

“Less than a breem.” Skyfire explains as he helps Ratchet to lift the speedster onto the operating table. “He was coherent when he woke up. He only had time to say a few broken sentences before dropping like this.”

“What did he mention?”

“Nuke.”

The CMO nods a few times before reaching for the switch of the light, his face unnervingly blank.

“He was an addict.” He says, as if it’s enough to explain everything. “We have to numb his spark to temporarily break the spark bond feedback.”

A hand slaps itself to his shoulder. It’s Drift.

“No.” The ex-Decepticons says.

“Drift.” Ratchet tries to reason.

“Can’t leave him when he needs me most.”

“And making you a martyr?” The medic holds him down with a steady hand, already undoing his chasis lock, “What that makes me then? A priest? A butcher?”

“A friend!” Drift cries out, trying his best to wipe those medic hands away, “A friend who lets his friend decide what’s best for them!”

“Not here, not now, not on my watch,” Under his hand, Drift’s chasis clicks open. Ratchet impatiently proceeds to remove the cover to his spark chamber, “You have made enough terrible life choices to prove yourself untrustworthy on that matter.”

“Such as what?” Drift lets out a pained cry, almost a bitter laugh, “Falling for you? Trusting you? Propositioning to you?”

Ratchet’s hands stop at the last question. The delicate cover to Drift’s spark chamber drops to the floor. Skyfire dares not to catch it in time. The shuttle stares at the duo speechless, holding his own breath.

“Those flowers,” Drift spits between his gritted teeth, “who will never heal.”

“So much caring, so much hydrating, so many fancy vases and so many gentle touches, will never reinvigorate them and death firmly awaits.”

“Do they just deserve nothing now?”

Tears pool in those eyes, he pulls his face away.

“Everyone wants a perfect flower.” He says, “So many broken sparks, so many unspeakable secrets, hidden under the same name, reunited as one. We were such a bunch of ugly scraps. But we bloomed together.”

“Don’t you see, Ratchet?” He asks, voice low and sincere, “I don’t need fixing, Ratchet. I need you.”

The digits already digging in the spark chamber clench softly on the rims. Ratchet bits his lower lips.

“This is an unfair question.” He says, staring down at the bright blue ball of fire between his fingers. “You are an unfair person. I should have known that ages ago. I don’t know why I’m even surprised.”

Those words Drift just spelled out for him are his worst fear, his enemy, his nightmare. It’s like Optimus all over again and a hundred times worse. Everyone knows about the ethics, knows the principles, the rules, about how a medic should not develop a relationship too intimate with a patient, at least not until they are discharged from their care. But chances are, sometimes your beloved ones get send into your medbay in so many pieces that you don’t know how to put them back. And even worse, they may just spend the rest of their lives this way, until they die in your shaking arms.

Then all of a sudden ethics are nothing but white lies.

Between his hands, the fiery spark contradicts erratically, sending noisy pulses to the EKG. It must be agony for him but Drift’s frame is perfectly still under his, his venting steady and his gaze calm.

The medic finds himself can’t help but lowering his face to that spark apologetically, almost trying to press a kiss to kiss it better.

And that’s the moment he finally sees it. Rodimus’ handwriting on the inside of the Drift’s spark chamber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That strange diplomatic situation of Deathsaurus is actually based on a friend of my old boss, though slightly less political but all the same principles. I'm not naming which two delirious earthly nations agreed to that sort of madness but on second thought...no law says you can't do that, right? Probably.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally supposed to be two more chapters down the line but since it's Halloween, I figured it's a good day to present our favourite boogyman wrapped up in a new costume.

And that, was not how Optimus pictured the circumstance under which he and the Matrix will cross paths again.

Ratchet was down to the rock bottom of his entire life and he had to call in sick leave from his work. First Aid visibly panicked. Unable to gather any string of strength to offer comfort, Ratchet just hang up on him.

First Aid will live. They all will.

“Let me get this straight.” Megatron says, “Rodimus wrote coordinates of the Matrix’ location, on the inside of Drift’s spark casing.”

“Branded.” Ratchet says.

“And those coordinates are coded.” Megatron continues, “According to Drift, he doesn’t know how to decipher the codes. The mech who can, is onboard ship called the _Lost Light_ which currently harbours the residents of the destroyed colony on DK-27 _._ And it’s heading to Cybertron as we speak.”

“Taking an unknown path.” Ratchet says.

“And you kicked Optimus out of this meeting because?”

“I can’t deal with him right now.” The medic admits tiredly, “He gave Rodimus the Matrix of Leadership. And in a very long run, it destroys Drift and Rodimus to the degree I don’t even know how to repair. I don’t think I can.”

“From what I’ve heard Rodimus stole it from Optimus.”

“Yes.” Ratchet confirms, “Right in my medbay. I gave both of them a check-up, I told them I can remove the Matrix.”

He pauses, his face beyond regret and exhaustion.

“I should have insisted.”

Megatron shakes his helm.

“And I should have died. Look at me, fighting a proper campaign and eating a healthy diet, living with the nemesis of my life.”

“You like him.” Ratchet says.

“I do. More than I would admit.”

“He hates you.” Ratchet adds.

Megatron falls silent.

“He told me that, repeatedly, right here, right in this room.”

“What happens to the confidentiality?” Megatron growls.

“Call it a revenge if you must.” The CMO whispers, “I’m tired of keeping everyone’s secret. There are things that should be let out. The longer they are locked, the worse it gets. I know the feeling. I was too late myself.”

“Drift isn’t dead, Ratchet.” Megatron insists, “Neither is Rodimus.”

“Have you ever thought they don’t really want to see you.” Ratchet asks, “Imagine Soundwave, in his most tormented moment, helpless and defeated, but wouldn’t bite your name on his tongue. A master escape plan in mind, but never expecting a rescue. And when you show up, they become scared.”

A moment of silence.

“It’s not you that scares Drift.” Finally, Megatron says.

“No,” Ratchet agrees, voice hoarse and empty, “it’s called fate but it likes to wear your face.”

“Optimus doesn’t hate you. He gets angry, he gets violent and too many flashbacks. He punches your imaginary faces on the wall out of stress.” He continues, “Defeating you sounds a lot easier than defeating fate but in the end, it isn’t. He thought he lost his purpose as a leader when he let Rodimus take off. He eventually came back from his fall and set out to help, only to get kicked right back in again. All this time he’s been struggling, trying to set himself as a good post-war golden example as he was expected to and failed, you weren’t here. The Autobots still had their high command even when their leader stepped down. What did the Decepticons have when both you and Soundwave disappeared? Someone had to take care of them. Starscream might have tried his best, but he still doesn’t know how.”

They sent Ratchet home. Drift has been sleeping like a dead mech once his spark synchronisation is over, presumably indicating Rodimus is doing the same. Megatron promises to stay with him for the day, offering comfort. Optimus sets out to gather some information, he told him Deathsaurus agreed to meet with him around noon.

“You seem to have good relationship with my Decepticons these days.” Megatron says.

“Some might have considered my bold move of beating up an enforcer as something unconventionally desirable.” Optimus says.

“Reasonably.” Megatron delightfully agrees.

Later that afternoon, Optimus informs Megatron that Deathsaurus agrees to lend them a ship and a spacebridge if they want to explore certain coordinates. No question asked. Surprisingly, he has personally made a request to meet with Megatron himself.

Megatron sends in his approval.

Skyfire watches over Drift’s sleeping face, still looking rather concerned.

“He truly believes Ratchet won’t love him back.” He says.

Megatron raises his helm in surprise, never expecting the shuttle to talk to him.

“I hope things will work out for them.” The shuttle says.

“You know,” Megatron begins, “I realise you have never mentioned Starscream since you’ve got here. Do you not miss him.”

“I do.” Skyfire smiles sadly, “But I don’t want to be a distraction to him when he needs to concentrate on something.”

“He’s described you to me in many words,” Megatron says, “but ‘distracting’ was never one of them. If anything, that should be his own job.”

Skyfire lets out a short laugh, quickly muffles himself with a palm so that he won’t wake Drift.

“What’s your medical condition by the way.” The ex-warlord says warily. “You have been staying here since day one. You don’t seem to need to.”

“It’s…not really a medical condition.” The shuttle slightly flusters, “I’m merely sparked. I’m carrying Starscream’s sparkling and I don’t want my safety be of his concern.”

Overlord comes online to the dreadful feeling in his fuel tank. He feels weak, both spark and frame. He feels like a trigger-happy lightweight on a wimp, a ghost without form, a spark without a frame, a turbofox without its owner.

It feels like he’s witnessing himself standing right in front of Megatron, for the first time in the arena, without any clue about what he’s walking into. A thousand defeats getting in the line and he’s still counting, until he starts counting the days in between his fix of binge murder instead, no Megatron in sight.

Does he enjoy murder? Yes. But he’s known mechs who find more thrill in the act than he ever will. Power however, is something he finds joy in. Whether it’s his own showcase or on the receiving end will always send shivers down his spine, all the way to the tip of his fingers. And now, he’s deprived of such privilege.

He stares down to the two bruised tiny paws on the floor, glares up to a ceiling too high. He’s been starved for too long to bark properly for his now non-verbal vocaliser. The door which used to be too small for his size in his usual form, towers indifferently over his current form, just a grip away, always an inch beyond his reach, wearing a tight collar on his throat.

They have done this humiliate him. They have specifically informed him he will die in this pathetic, powerless form by starvation of all things. No one in the whole universe will come looking for him. And if someone does, they’ll have nothing but a good laugh before heading out to leave him alone once again. Having Overlord die in the frame of a domesticated turbofox, on all fours, on a leash, slowly starving to death, only an inch away from the door is just _precious_. Even Overlord himself finds it rather amusing to think about. Four million years of serving a mech, one particular deal with the Autobot ex-SIC, and one failed assassination, gets him here.

And the door isn’t even properly locked.

Suddenly, the ceiling that has been quiet for months above his helm, becomes full of heavy footsteps. With the enhanced sensory suite in his current form, he can hear mechs talking. He recognises some of the voices. The Decepticon lab has been compromised by a bunch of Autobots.

He sits up, audial fins straightened, his plating completely still and his protoform crawls beneath. He cannot be seen like this. How will he ever defeat Megatron like this? How will he ever be taken seriously, as an opponent, a rival, if words get out he’s been seen like this.

He stretches his paw for as far as he can to that glowing exit button, suddenly determined to reach for the button or ripping off his own head on that leash in that process. With the chain halfway crushing into his volcaliser, cutting his in-take lines all the way open, he finally manages a gentle touch to it, only to be fried by electric shock right on sight. His frame drops down to the floor with a heavy bang, the smell of ozone in the air. Turns out he has been kept not just on a leash, but a false hope as well. The button is not designed to free him, but to electrocute him when he thinks he’s come close to winning. His torturers were as professional as he is.

Or rather, he was.

Drained of his every willpower and with an open throat, the turbofox closed his optics.

He did not expect himself to wake up again, let alone to a massive, gentle hand pressed to his forehead, offering ultimate comfort. His rescuer seems thrilled to see he’s alive.

“Told you he is a fighter.” The familiar voice cheers.

“It is a miracle.” A different voice says, with a hint of wariness that you usually find forged to the vocaliser of every typical medic you met in the war.

“Aren’t we all miracles here? This community has a habit of taking miracles on board, starting from the founder himself.” The familiar mech laughs, gently petting the turbofox’s helm.

It should not feel so good to be petted. Overlord breaks away from the touch in annoyance. To his surprise, the hand withdraws itself in polite agreement.

_No._

The turbofox lets out a pitiful whine. And he has the big mech’s full cooperation instantly. His new owner is such a gentlemech, quite the opposite from his previous keeper. The replaced new vocaliser purrs into the touches, submissive to the beastformer coding in his processor. He’s been shameless all his life, a mech always truthful to whatever he wants however morbid it is. That’s not gonna change today. It looks like his new owner is good material for manipulations, too. Maybe they’ll get alone after all.

“Swerve is right. You had it for one day and you are ready to die for it.” Ambulon sighs. “Need to remind you, we found him in an abandoned lab behind heavy bars and a door equipped with touch-activated electrocution. I just fixed your second-degree burns from trying to rescue it.”

“You said it yourself.” Fortress Maximus smiles at the smaller medic, “He’s even below average size for his species. And with his fangs and claws were surgically removed.”

“I just don’t understand why they take their time to do so.” Ambulon shakes his helm, “They should have other better things to do in that dark lab. I would kill to forget what we found in the basement and I was once stationed at Delphi. He’s not even a beastformer, just a turbofox.” Then he pauses a suspicious long moment before adding, “Not that I’ve ever seen a turbofox before but he’s not a beastformer. For that I’m sure.”

Nickel rolls her lovely wheels in with a tray of dampeners. She caught the confession just in time.

“What?” The mini rolls her blue optics, “Well I was told the MTO pre-programming is pretty shitty, missing a whole chunk of common sense, but really?”

Ambulon looks embarrassedly offended, he glares at the mini ex-DJD, ready to open fire when Fortress Maximus cuts in with chuckle.

“I’ve never seen a turbofox before, either.” The ex-warden gives his own confession.

Both mechs optics brighten in surprise.

“How have you never…” Ambulon stutters and pauses, realisation coming to his processor. Turbofoxes were already as rare as forged newborns by the time Fortress Maximus came online. Unlike the MTOs, warborns were not pre-programmed to understand the basics of the world the moment they came online.

“Has that prison planet of yours never?” Nickel asks casually.

“We talked about getting a breeding line.” The ex-warden says, gently combing the back of the turbofox’s neck, “Prowl offered the budget. It then came to my realisation that he wanted less mechs guarding the prison and more on the frontline. Some of my guards were not in good shapes to survive that but the high command had a habit of handpicking people.”

“So you turned down the offer so that the ones unwilling to leave will not be forced to be relocated?” Nickel hums. “I thought you were not the very typical kind of Autobot back then.”

“I did eventually let him open a recruiting centre on Garrus-9 instead, but mostly for freshly discharged ex-prisoners.” Fortress Maximus shakes his head. “Should have let more of them go.”

“Hey, don’t. Our DJD lady here is just unhappy that we were too late to catch the _Peaceful Tyranny_ in time.” Ambulon gasps, “Think about it. At least now we can confirm Overlord is officially dead! We found his empty frame in the lab, no sign of spark inside. He’s not hurting another soul in this lifetime.”

The tank says nothing, focusing his attention solely on the injured, happily purring turbofox who pays no interest to the conversation carried out between the three survivors of their respective posts.

“And think about what Overlord would have done if you have replaced the guards with turbofoxes when he got there.” Nickel laughs happily. “Open a turbofox fight championship?”

Startled, both Fortress Maximus and Ambulon raise their helms and looks at the small medic in pure horror.

“A what championship again?” The medic demands.

“Why would anyone want to see turbofoxes fight?” The ex-warden asks in confusion.

Right. Warborns and MTOs. Well discipled yet uncultured, efficient but obscurely innocent, generally have no idea how the pre-war society worked. Nickel has to hide a tired yet wickedly pleasant internal sigh. Primus, considering the number of warborns and MTOs on board this ship, the arrival of the _Lost Light_ to Cybertron will be such a disaster.

“Captain! Aye, captain.” A cheerful knock to the door, Misfire invites himself in, dragging a reluctant yet curious Fulcrum by the arm, “You won’t believe it! This precious little K-con baby here says he’s never seen a turbofox in action! We gotta fix that!”

Overlord tilts his audial fin.

“May I come in, too?” Here comes another knock. Polite and reserved, Brainstorm looks around for permission standing at the now widely open door to the medbay, “I would like to pay a visit to the newest arrival to take some notes, for scientific purpose of course.”

“You can say the word turbofox. It won’t bite you.” Fulcrum says in a defeated voice, he turns for the ex-warden in inquiry, “Do turbofoxes come online with pre-programmed designations, too?”

Fort Max spontaneously turns to Nickel for answer.

Misfire is a laughing mess on the floor. It takes forever for Nickel to gather all the decency she needs to answer this question.

“Not that I know of.” She snorts dreamily. “I mean, it is possible that they online with their own names too but we don’t get to call them by those names since our vocalisers are of different designs.”

“Do we get to pick their names?” Brainstorm says excitedly. “To suit our version of vocalisers.”

Misfire cheers, “Yeah, Max, what are we gonna call this little fellow here to suit our vocalisers? You should pick. You fried your circuits to get him.”

Said little fellow is trying his best to pretend to be asleep, saving what’s left of his dignity. He’s not dealing with a room full of overgrown sparklings.

“I haven’t thought that through.” Fort Max admits.

“How about Overlord.” Misfire suggests, “Since he’s found next to the room that held Overlord’s creepy dead body?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Fulcrum faintly protests.

“Didn’t the therapist guy say we should try re-associating bad words with something nice?” Misfire says, “I say Overlord is a pitch-black A plus bad word and I think our little doggie here is damn cute enough to fix that.”

“We named the Christmas tree ‘Delphi’ last year.” Brainstorm adds.

Ambulon bites down his own protest, eyeing Fort Max nervously.

After a moment of silence, the tank seems to have made up his mind.

“Maybe we should let him decide.” He concludes, stroking the tilted audial fin, “What do you say? Do you want to be called Overlord?”

Overlord looks up to the face of his once favourite victim, narrowing his optics dangerously. Are these mechs playing games on him? If they are, they are damn good at it.

But nonetheless, this may be his last chance of getting his name back.

Finally he makes the most approving sound his current vocaliser can manage, hoping he can somehow miraculously, get his approval across to the thick helm in front of him. And to his surprise, Fortress Maximus reads him like a natural.

“Overlord it is then.” He smiles. “Welcome to the _Lost Light_. We will arrive on Cybertron in two weeks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a feeling that this fic is just a series of disturbing themes muffled by bad humour.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deathsaurus is probably quite out of character.

Optimus managed to setup a meeting with Deathsaurus in the middle of the night. Constantly experiencing jetlag, as he says, the night owl activity of the beastformer diplomat will rise little to no suspicions from the neighbourhood.

“What’s he like.” Megatron asks.

“You should know him better than I do.” Optimus points out, “He was one of your commanders.”

“My ex air commander is siring a sparkling, and it’s growing in the gestation chamber of an Autobot space shuttle who now hides inside a hidden quarter beneath an Iaconian hospital with a delirious Deadlock while his conjunx broods in prison, with Prowl of all mechs.” Megatron says, “You can tell me Deathsaurus has reformatted himself into a cyberchicken and I won’t even flinch.”

“He has funded a daycare centre for the organo-mechanical hybrid Decepticon orphans.”

Megatron stops walking and looks at him like he’s suddenly speaking binary.

“A story for another day.” Optimus shakes his helm, “But to be fair, your space antique dealer story tops everyone else. I don’t see why you are so easily startled these days. If one of you is anxious to know what happened to the other during the past vorns, it should be Deathsaurus.”

And he’s probably right, because the first thing pops out of Deathsaurus’ vocaliser is:

“Are you using him?”

Megatron however, is in no hurry to jump into any tricky responsibility.

“Optimus Prime, I assume you are talking about.” He narrows his optics, “I have heard, that you owe a rather, outstanding favour to him. You and your troops.”

“My people no longer register as military forces.”

“Yet I believe they are ready to renew their status, given the circumstances.”

Deathsaurus examines him carefully in silence. His extinct facial appearance of four optics has granted him more attention than he desired. Megatron is almost amused but he drops no hints. Eventually, the beastformer gives in, perhaps only to humour him.

“I suppose you are right.” He confirms, “Wars make warriors, yet civilisation always fail to unmake its doing. I have been taught during my own days of service, under your very name. A war is not fought for the sake of wars, it is fought by the warriors, and for the warriors. So if you don’t mind me asking, what fancy circumstances do you propose?”

It’s a dangerous question. If there are ears in the walls, they’ll be in much trouble as Starscream and Prowl if someone overhears what Deathsaurus just suggested. It’s an endearingly luring proposal. Deathsaurus has an army, and he just indicated that they are indeed, ready to rise.

“To whom do I owe the answer of this question?” Megatron asks.

Slowly, Deathsaurus replies. “To the cause you abandoned.”

“You and I both abandoned you mean.” Megatron says.

The cold, steady accusation in his tone sends Deathsaurus into a long moment of silence. The diplomat stands up and walks to the cabinet behind his desk, finding a fine bottle of engex and pours himself one. One second thought, he brings out a second cube and pours one for Megatron.

Two cubes land on the desk. Pinkish blue liquor viscously tangles inside the crystal containers.

Deathsaurus is a heavyweight drinker. Megatron can tell by the way he swallows. Yet he doesn’t seem to enjoy the engex as it should be appreciated. All in all, he doesn’t even seem to like it all that much.

“Stole it from Glit’s stock.” Deathsaurus must have sensed his wondering, “No doctor is gonna tell a doctor to stop drinking too much for his frame. So you simply act on it.”

“That old cat is with you?”

“When he’s not drinking himself into oblivious, of course.” Deathsarus comments.

“Overcharging isn’t safe these days, tell him I said that.”

“Sure.” Deathsaurus nods along, “I’m sure he’ll take advice from Megatron himself.”

“You seem,” Megatron pauses, “anxious about something. I’d appreciate it if you tell me before you drink yourself into oblivious against my very advice.”

Deathsaurus holds a “wait a sec” gesture in front of him as he drinks down what’s left in that cube he poured. And when he finished, he puts it down on the desk and licks his lips.

“So,” he begins, “I was auditing in the court early this morning. Court-martial precisely.”

“Prowl’s case?”

“So you did receive the notice. The Council has requested your presence. Assistance, even.”

“I and Optimus who conveniently share the same post address.” Megatron comments, “Whether or not he has sponsored some or all of my assassinations is his own problem. I will not confirm whatever the court may present to me. Never have I turned down a request so fast in my life.”

“Wise choice.” Deathsaurus compliments.

Megatron tilts his helm curiously, “So? Since you’ve brought it up, and Prowl isn’t here, I suppose the court has not cleared his name yet. Perhaps, due to the lack of evidence or witness to say otherwise, the judgement has been postponed.”

“In any other case, I would agree with you.”

Megatron narrows his optics.

Deathsaurus picks up the other cube, the one meant for Megatron to consume.

“Prowl confessed. He admitted to having committed the crimes he stated in the recording.”

“The recording. You mean the video.”

“No.” Deathsaurus already swallows half the cube down his throat, it almost looks painful, “A recording of himself confessing was presented to the court anonymously during the trial. It appears he was arguing with one of his fellow prisoners when his tongue slipped.”

Megatron stares at him skeptically.

“A recording like that should not be taken as valid evidence. And Prowl, doesn’t just slip tongue.”

“Of course not.” Deathsaurus agrees, “But he confessed the moment he heard the recording. They asked who he was talking to. He wouldn’t say a word.”

“Did the court not find it suspicious?”

“Very.” Deathsaurus lets out a bitter laugh, he’s already tipsy, “But a confession is a confession, and the confessor was one of the handful who established this section of the laws. He made sure it was handled professionally.”

“And you are telling me this because?”

Deathsaurus puts down the half empty cube and looks at the ex-warlord in the optics, two pairs staring into one.

“Because whoever Prowl was up against, it appears he has lost.” The ex-Decepticon says, “And I, don’t feel like joining the losing side, not again, not ever. So humour me, who and what do you think you now stand against. And how close to winning do you think you are.”

Treachery, he suggests.

“I fight for Cybertron.” Megatron says, “And I suggest you do the same. The title you wear sitting in the Council Hall should bring a meaning to you.”

“After all these vorns,” Deathsaurus pauses, “I would never have expected to be called a traitor by you, with an offer such as this in hand.”

“I have managed enough all by myself.” Megatron says.

“Yet still you have Optimus Prime pick up the mails people drop off at your joined address.”

Deathsaurus’ confession seems genuine. Maybe even a bit too genuine to Megatron’s liking. He never expected royalty from Deathsaurus yet he’s never been particularly wary about the commander’s feral attitude. If anything, he admires his hidden desire to find peace with his comrades, even before the beastformer became aware of his own devotion.

He’s offering Megatron an army of Decepticons, if the situation worsens. But why? There seems no urgent need for a change on Cybertron, however triple damned Prowl is. Should this be a test through an alluring conversation full of traps, how does he get out of this most efficiently, with enough trust to build an alliance, also enough feat to stay admired and respected.

“I am my own army.” Megatron says. “I think you understand what that means better than others, even Optimus Prime.”

Deathsaurus narrows his optics, “I can pretend I didn’t hear that tonight. One of the best reasons the Cybertronian Council puts up with us, is they don’t want an independent colony of Decepticons to receive citizenship.”

“No you can’t.” Megatron says, “Because you are aware if your army is faced with me, me alone, in any situation you can name. You, all of you, will be the scared ones. And I will not.”

A long moment of silence. Deathsaurus is glaring at him yet seems both intrigued and offended. His wings tilt and his optics flare. He tries to hide it by drinking into the cube then he realises there is none left. For a klik he looks like he’s about to go for the cabinet and pours himself a new one. Then suddenly he looks like he’s just reminded Megatron is still here.

It looks like Megatron has somewhat regained his trust, to the very extent that he briefly unregisters him as a threat in his room in his slightly overcharged state. But strangely, Deathsaurus doesn’t look relieved as he expected him to be. On the contrary, he looks rather troubled.

Then all of a sudden it clicks into one piece. Megatron stands up instantly, grasping the hand still holding the empty cube. He leans to him, the other hand holding Deathsaurus still.

“What happened to your colony?” He demands. “Has it already begun to show? How many people have already been affected? Was it you, has it been you all along? Was it you who brought up the problem to Starscream?”

“Who’s asking.” Deathsaurus says almost humorously. “Lord Megatron, or Electon the medic who saved the day.”

Now it’s Megatron’s turn to be intrigued.

“You want the cure.” He states.

“At this point I would bring up your responsibilities, and your bidding in the elections,” Deathsaurus smiles, gritting his sharp teeth, “But who are we fooling, in a room of two Decepticons. So tell me, at what cost?”

Megatron takes a step aback, he looks at his ex-subordinate with sceptical, pitying eyes.

“At no cost.” He says, making it sound as genuine as he can manage, “But it’s simply not my place to trade.”

He left Deathsaurus’ house in a hurry. It has been raining, Optimus was sheltering himself under the garden roof but he drove Megatron into the rain without asking any question. Deathsaurus watched them disappear into the rain.

“I take it you passed his test.” Optimus’ voice is blurred by the noise of the rain.

“I see you are aware of his habit.” Megatron says, they are both soaking wet and Optimus’ tires are gathering mud between the seams.

“He is one of a kind.”

“Actually, he isn’t.” Megatron says, “There were many of his frame type on this side of the war. I’m not sure if they made it.”

“Maybe we should take a travel to the colony.”

Megatron lets out a long sigh. He stares into the void of the pitch black, leaking sky to gather enough strength. Eventually he says.

“Actually, we need to make a travel to Ratchet’s chamber. I may have a deal to make.”

Ratchet punches Megatron right in the face the moment he suggests it.

“How dare you.” He says.

“Ratchet.” The ex-warlord says.

“The answer is no.” The medic insists. “You have the final answer, now leave.”

“It is not your decision to make.” Megatron says.

“You know what his decision is.” The medic grabs his neck cable with firm squeeze, “You know what he will say if you tell him this.”

“Yes I do.”

“So why do you bring it to me? Why don’t you just walk in and have a nice chat with himself, whip his self-sacrificial aft with your heavy ego and leave with whatever you came for? What’s stopping you!”

Megatron growls angrily. “My spark, because contrary to common belief, I have one!”

Optimus, all soaked wet and muddy everywhere, tries to interfere.

“Ratchet.” He says.

“Don’t Ratchet me.” The medic takes a step aback, “I kept you. When everyone left I kept you. I believed in you. I got you signed up for that damn gardener job and I found you that slagging flat to live. The moment this biggest piece of scrap of entire universe showed up at your door, you throw all of this away, for what? A mission? For love? No, you don’t even know what you are looking for in him. But let me tell you this, just because you can’t find it in yourself, doesn’t mean you’ll find it in your nemesis.”

“He is not, a better mech than he was, just because you have gotten yourself into worse!”

For a very brief split klik, Optimus looks hurt. That hurt slides away as quickly as it could but it casts Ratchet into silence. The medic closed his optics and lowers his helm in defeat, and regret.

“Alright.” He murmurs, voice almost trembling, “Go ahead. Go ahead and ask him.”

“If we find the Matrix first.” Optimus suggests.

“There is no proof the Matrix really is the cure.” Megatron says.

“The attackers were after the Matrix.” Optimus says.

“There are all kinds of reasons people may seek for an ancient artefact.”

“The timing was rather suspicious and so was the pollution itself.”

“Optimus,” Megatron shakes his helm, “The Matrix didn’t save our race before, I can’t count on it to save our race now.”

“You don’t need to.” The ex-Prime says, “But I’ll be looking for it.”

After a long pause Megatron nods unattentively.

“Then you have my assistance.” He says.

And Drift says yes.

“When will I be leaving.” The speedster asks.

“After Deathsaurus arranges for a safe extraction.” Optimus says, “Most likely in three days when he leaves for his fortress. It’s his monthly routine, it rises least suspicions if you travel with him.”

“Deathsaurus.” Drift whispers, “Yeah, I suppose things could have been worse.”

“You’ll be safer with him for now, off this planet.” Optimus says, “I will be looking for Rodimus on Cybertron. Try to take these things off your processor for now. We will take care of it.”

The white speedster nods.

Behind him, leaning to the wall with his arms crossed, Ratchet says nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angtsy bitsy Ratchey


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of past torture, dehumanisation, and manipulation

Once Megatron gave the word, Deathsaurus quickly arranged for a spacebridge.

They arranged for another meeting before they take off.

“Here is where I want to start.” Deathsaurus, “I told you none of the senators had any idea why Prowl confessed and no one knows who he was talking to in that recording.”

“I lied.” He says. “It was Jazz. Prowl’s conjunx.”

“Divorced conjunx, you mean.” Megatron points out.

“No.” Deathsaurus sighs, “Jazz faked their divorce. They are still very much married.”

“Jazz works for you?”

“He works for no one.” Deathsaurus says, “But I sponsor him.”

“Why?”

“I was black-mailed.” Deathsaurus pauses, “The Spec Ops took great interest in off-world Cybertronian colonies after the war.”

“To strike them down?”

“To document.” Deathsaurus continues, “Cybertron didn’t stand a great chance against all these scattered communities at the time. The newly formed government was fragile, ready to shatter at any moment. The Council had their concerns, they settled with one decision, to stand down. Offer nothing if not reached out for first, claim nothing, do not interfere.”

“Until you showed up.”

“These colonies sometimes engage in their own wars on small scale.” Deathsaurus says, “My fortress had a crisis. Star Saber believed I was hiding something from the Autobots. I wanted to turn my soldiers to the new Council, so they may have a final resort.”

“And did you?” Megatron says. “Hide something special from those precious Autobots.”

Deathsaurus shots back a familiar grin. “Of course.”

That’s a true Decepticon to you. However defeated, powerless, strapped down he appears to you at the time, he always has one last trick hidden somewhere for you to discover.

“Its name is DK-27. And _his_ name, is Flip Flare.” He says.”

The statement echoed in his processor as Megatron waits for the spacebridge to activate. Maybe that is why Drift said it could have been worse when he brought up Deathsaurus name. He must have known Deathsaurus is trustworthy since he was once, willing to go into war guarding their secret.

Then Jazz must have known, too, if he used the “Flip Flare” situation to black-mail Deathsaurus. So the Autobot spy isn’t as retired as he lets on.

“One of my knights received the stress signal from DK-27.” Deathsaurus has told him, “Not many mech know how to find that planet. It took some time. When we got there, there was already nothing left. Soon afterwards, some of my mechs began to show different levels of memory loss. I locked them up and burnt down everything they touched. I returned to Cybertron and GTooxo71 was all over the news, then I rushed to my home and ordered the energon reservoir to be burnt down. The disease stopped spreading but the ones affected wouldn’t recover no matter what we tried. I could no longer take how the Council turning a blind eye to all the colonies so I confronted Starscream. He told me off. Then I went to Jazz.”

He pauses.

“Turns out Starscream isn’t as indifferent as he claims to be. And I’m an idiot.”

“Jazz framed his own conjunx during his investigation. Any idea why?”

“No idea.” The beastformer says, “I haven’t heard from him for days by now. I’m now concerned about his safety instead. And suddenly you came banging my door. I thought I’d been well-disguised, hiding in Starscream’s shadow. No one has ever placed a second thought on me so far. Unless you are the cause of everything yourself. That’s why I tried to trick you during our first conversation, if just to see how you’ll react to it. If you don’t mind me asking, what gave me away.”

“I would say the way you were admitted to the new society looked too suspicious.” Megatron says, “But truth is, Soundwave dropped your files to my desk.”

For once, the beastformer looks shocked. “Soundwave’s still alive?”

“You seem very surprised.” Megatron asks.

“I am.” Deathsaurus admits, “Glit used to be one of his cassettes. And according to him, the mech takes host-cassette bond very seriously. He would answer the call of his cassettes and once-cassettes no matter where he is, and what he’s been doing. Glit called. He made a habit of calling Soundwave whenever he’s drunk, even though it’s been radio silence for seven hundred vorns. No one, absolutely no one, has ever answered.”

The possibility keeps breaking Megatron’s processor. He looks down at Drift who’s sitting in a wheelchair, the speedster has this anxious yearning face, looking around, trying to find someone, acting out of his plating. It’s a gesture Megatron can relate. Has Soundwave really been here, or has it all been in his mind?

Did he imagine it, the quiet yet affectionate interactions between himself and the invisible helping hand? Was it real, or was he simply never loved?

“It’s time to leave.” Deathsaurus says.

Drift closed his optics. He nods.

“Tell him I said sorry.” He says.

Suddenly there is a knock at the door. The beastformer guards look at each other, one of them then leave for the door. Very cautiously, the ex-Con opens the door and reveals a very languished Ratchet. The ambulance is wearing no badge, carrying one suitcase and rolling a wheeled one.

“Ratchet!” Drift stands up as fast as he can. “I thought you wouldn’t…I thought I wouldn’t have a chance to say goodbye.”

“You are right you wouldn’t, you ungrateful brat.” The medic rushes in with bold steps, “’Cause I’m leaving with you.”

“What? Ratchet you can’t”

“Cut the slag,” The medic pushes the handle of the wheeled suitcase into the servo of the guard who opened the door, “I resigned. Now Fist Aid is CMO and he can take care of himself.”

“Eh,” Deathsaurus hesitantly clears his vocaliser, “I don’t have arrangement for another trespassing…”

“Then arrange for it now. Figure it out.” The medic says.

Half amused, the beastformer eyes Megatron with a grin, “This guy’s an Autobot? What have we missed.”

Megatron is tasting chaos on the tip of his tongue. Uncaringly, Ratchet throw a key to his face.

“Keep my office and my chamber.” He says, then he points at the speedster who’s still standing in awe, “You, you sit right down to that wheelchair before I break your kneecaps.”

Drift does as he’s told, completely unable to speak.

“What do we tell your crew?” Megatron asks. “Someone’s gonna think you’re kidnapped.”

“I told them I met a mech.” Ratchet deadpans, a finger tapping his chestplate, “And I’m gonna run after his tailpipe like a turbofox possessed. You can gather the force of a hundred galaxies but no one can stop me.”

Drift opens his mouth, his optics glowing impossibly bright, then he gets a pot pressed to his cheeks.

“You forgot these.” The medic says, voice suddenly soft.

Drift takes the pot in hand and brings it to his optics level. It’s a flowerpot, currently growing the ugliest, most horrible looking flower on entire Cybertron.

“It’s,” Drift stutters, “It’s your flower.”

“Our flower now.” Ratchet says. He grabs the handle of the wheelchair and rolls it toward the activating spacebridge.

“Take care of Optimus.” He farewells.

Deathsaurus laughs like a cackling chicken in the morning as he steps past the beamish space portal following their steps. When the bridge finally deactivates, Megatron is left alone to the silent waiting room. It takes him a long moment to realise the white noise he’s hearing is the rain outside. It’s raining again. He’s forgotten how annoyingly rainy Iacon is at this time of the year. Frustrated, he pushes open the door, only to be greeted by Optimus standing in rain.

The truck-former looks a little bit surprised. He shouldn’t be. It’s not like he doesn’t know what’s going on inside the shuttle.

“You,” Megatron pauses, “You drove Ratchet here, didn’t you?”

Optimus nods unattentively, “He packed his luggage in a hurry.”

“I can imagine.” Megatron says.

“He took too much time to do the paperwork and explaining to First Aid. When he finally started packing he realised he doesn’t have suitcases. He panicked. I bought those suitcases for him on my way to his home.” Optimus adds, “About a joor ago.”

“That I can’t fathom.”

Another long pause.

“It’s been cold.” Megatron says, “would you like to get dinner? Not at home, somewhere else.”

Life on the Lost Light is far from what Overlord had expected. For starters, he was greeted by warm welcome. Then it gets warmer, then it just won’t get old. No matter how much he hisses, barks, and scratches to protest, mechs just don’t get his message. Mechs here just like him that much, offering endless shares of treats, petting him everywhere, pressing their foreheads to his, and claiming they are ready to die for him.

Rumour goes he’s the last turbofox in the universe, a baby one even, and was tortured and experimented on in the dark lab of the DJDs, now he’s traumatised and touch-starved and needs all the pampering in the multiverse.

And the worst part is, the rumour isn’t far from the truth, either.

His current frame is of an extinct breed of turbofoxes that were lost to the worlds even before the beginning of the war. Scorponok however, took great delight in reviving beings that shouldn’t be but has a habit of losing interest rather quickly once he’s made enough achievement to stroke his ego. The dog’s frame was manifested in one chamber of genetically engineered soup, and its spark was burnt out during an experiment, then Scoroponok simply stabs in the most power spark within his reaching range to keep going. Not was Overlord reformatted almost clumsily, he was instructed to behave accordingly, too. The scientist took more interest in the turbofox than Overlord himself. After all, he was merely asked to keep him prisoner here by the DJDs, with no further instructions other than to make it painful.

The DJDs, or what’s left of the team decided that even though Megatron should be punished for his treachery Overlord should be punished first since he accepted the job to assassinate Megatron from the Autobots, right before the team set out to assassinate Megatron themselves, so that was probably not why they brought Overlord down at all.

They brought Overlord down because Overlord had failed.

Megatron couldn’t care less about his bravado and the great effort behind being able to track him down. He didn’t even finish the job.

“You should stop living in such delusion.” Megatron had told him, “A realm where everything you want, you need, you desire, can be obtained through power.”

“I have allowed you to live in that particular utopia for too long. I have denied every drop of your existence through demonstration of my power so that you falsefully believed, that it’s my power that blocked your way. Now it’s about time you face the real world. That your power means nothing to the world. And neither does mine.”

“What’s that supposed to mean.” He had asked.

“You’ll see.” Megatron had told him, fondly.

That was, before he left without turning back and a few breems later, Tarn appeared out of nowhere only to find him on the energon-soaked ground gathering dirt.

A hundred vorns later, he finds himself being the centre of attention of the whole world once again but for all the wrong reasons. He had thought being on a ship full of MTOs should be the best he can bargain for on such unusual terms. Because of course none of them would have the slightest idea how a real turbofox should act, particularly regarding how intelligent they should be. However, he had underestimated their passion for cyberanimals. After millions of years of being denied access to proper entertainment, they just can’t get enough of him. And the “adults” of this ship, they think kids are being absolutely adorable.

After being brought to Swerve’s bar against his own will and trapped here for a solid joor, being petted by numerous hands until his forehead plating is the smoothest piece of metal of the entire ship, finally, finally his current keeper has come to rescue.

Fortress Maximus rushes in half dazed from his short recharge after a long ship, a polite yet slightly uneased smile on his face. He apologises multiple times beforehand and keeps apologising as he carefully lifts Overlord from the litter of mechs trying to pet him like a worshiped monument.

“Sorry, sorry,” he keeps saying, “time for his check-up. Ambulon won’t be happy if we are late.”

“Aww,” Tailgate protests, “Wasn’t he checked yesterday?”

“He’s a young boy and Ambulon wants to make sure he grows properly.” Fortress Maximus explains.

“Or, he wants Overlord for himself.” The minibot says.

Whirl giggles, “It sounds so sinister when you say the name out loud!”

“What, Overlord?” Tailgate says, “It’s a good name.” He then turns for Cyclonus for approval, “Do you think it’s a cool name too?”

“It certainly is.” Cyclonus says.

With Whirl’s rather threatening giggling in the background, Max finally finds his way out of the bar, carrying his little fellow in his arms. Once they are alone the tank lets out a relieved sigh.

“One of these days we’ll have to pay for ruining Ambulon’s social image you know.” He chuckles, “Hope he won’t be too rough on us when he finds out.”

The turbofox sniffs loudly.

“I know, I know,” Max nods along, “It’s not like he didn’t get pet you too.”

The turbofox sniffs softly.

“Yeah I’m late,” Max admits, “I promised to pick you up this morning. I didn’t know Cyclonus would go to the bar. He doesn’t seem like the type but I forgot about Tailgate.”

The turbofox sniffs inquisitively.

“One of the fusion pumps in the engine room failed last night,” Max explains, “They called in the maintenance team but they needed someone heavy to hold down the valve.”

The turbofox lets out an unimpressed snarl.

“Don’t be so rude.” His keeper laughs, “It feels good to be needed once in a while.”

After a long pause, the turbofox in his arms lets out a sleepy sigh.

Fortress Maximus might be telepathic, Overlord notes. He understands his gestures perfectly as if he’s freely speaking his mind. He respects private space as he’s requested to, and he doesn’t bother to question why. He lets Overlord take over half of his habuite, sleeps in his own berth and eats on the table. He even once asked if he needs special cutlery when he’s doing their dishes. According to Perceptor, Fortress Maximus is much younger than his look, which makes mechs to turn a blind optic when he does something questionably naïve. But with all the innocence in the world, no one would ask if a turbofox needs cutlery.

So all in all, Fortress Maximus being secretly telepathic and playing a mind game with him should be the most logical answer. Except it isn’t. If it is, he would have done much better back on G-9.

Or perhaps he’s one of those outliers who only develop their special abilities when they reach the later stage of maturation. They did mention he is actually pretty young.

When the door to their habsuite closes behind them, they are finally left alone by all the fuzz and duty on the other side of the door. There has always been a fragile sense of security in this room. A delusional one. Behind these walls, the turbofox lives like his own mech, the way any other bot on the _Lost Light_ will scream at, and only because Fortress Maximus lets it happen, he allows it to happen.

A utopia, says Megatron.

I have allowed you to live in that particular utopia for too long, he says.

The turbofox narrows his eyes, he watches as the tank lies down again, exhausted, yawning into his own palm. Then he rolls over and realises Overlord is staring.

“What’s wrong.” He asks, the worry in his voice genuine.

It’s not like he’s unfamiliar with Fort Max, his frame, or his stubborn personality. They’ve spent what seemed like an eternity together on G9 while the war they devoted their lives to fell apart on a meeting table. Fate goes that they keep finding themselves in these confined rooms. When he heard Megatron had left Cybertron he left G9 to its own means, he left Fortress Maximus to die but he didn’t.

“You remind me of someone.” The tank whispers. “The way you look at me.”

The turbofox froze.

“Rung says shadows remind people of pain.” The tank continues, “But more often than not people are hurt in broad daylight.”

This Rung must be a very boring person.

“Do I remind you of someone, too. Maybe just sometimes.”

Strangely Fort Max reminds him of himself. Precisely of his life, the life he has been stripped of, a life he hasn’t been living for the past hundred vorns, because he was weak, because he didn’t beat Megatron on the one thing he does the best in his life, and Megatron on the other hand, had the guts to beat him on it then tell him his best techniques are nothing but a scum and he had better things to do.

In the darkness, those red optics of the ex-warden sleepily stare back at his. He once asked if he’s ever been given problems about the colour of his optics, since it’s the Decepticon colour and he then was spat in the face. But the darkness here between them is soothing. And despite everything, Fortress Maximus dignifies him, if only behind the walls. He’d be utterly flattered if it does turn out to be a mind game, because it will dignify him even more to be valued enough to be plotted against, to be manipulated and framed. He hand-picked Fortress Maximus back on G-9 because he was worth all those attentions, his best means and dirtiest tricks. Now will he feel the same in return? Deep down, the turbofox he has become wishes not.

A delusional utopia you need to wake up from. Megatron says. Power cannot guarantee you solid ground. And now, even power isn’t on your side.

The turbofox begins to circle on the spot anxiously. He begins to fear this room and his keeper as they should be.

Eventually, the ex-warden and proxy captain in service sighs in defeat. He lifts his blanket to reveal some space in his berth.

“OK,” he says, “You can come in if you want.”

Then the mech says exactly what he likes to hear, all at the right time. The turbofox jumps into the warm spot the ex-warden has safe-kept for him the moment he’s given the chance. Leaning to the massive frame, he can directly hear Fort Max through his chest.

“Do you want to be petted.” The voice asks.

He says nothing and the tank lay down his arms in response.

“It’s ok.” He whispers, “I know the feeling.”

How ironical, to have Overlord be the nightmare of both mechs in this room, and one of them being Overlord himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need my emotional support...something.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was the second part of the last chapter too dark. Is this a dark fic now.  
> I blame Overlord for everything. Fort Max is just a big boy drunk on respect cyberanimal juice because he met the roboids. And Overlord just makes it look very sinister.

They returned to their shared little flat on foot. Primus forbids all transformers from drunk driving.

The Prime is, surprisingly, a heavy drinker. Megatron spent too much effort to get him drunk and eventually succeeded in doing so, as always, at heavy cost to himself. One thing leads to another, now they find themselves standing outside the door, desperately trying to find the key.

“I’m sure it’s with me.” Optimus insists. “I locked the door when I left.”

“Come on, you must have a spare one under the doormat.” Megatron argues, “Just move your pedes, heavy bot.”

“I only weigh slightly heavier than average for my frame size. You, however”

“Are a mass-displacing handgun. I’m the size I choose to be.” Megatron rest his hands on his waist, “What’s your excuse?”

“I’m a Prime.” Optimus claims.

“Blame it on the Primacy. My favourite.” Megatron laughs, “Now you move over and let me find that key.”

“No.” Optimus drunkenly insists, “It’s with me. I just need to find it.”

At some point the neighbour walked out and offered them the spare key Optimus gave him the day he moved in along with a few sweet treats.

“It helps to clear hangovers.” The mech suggests. He peeks at Megatron, “They’re safe for cybercats consumption too.” He adds.

Later they find themselves lying in berth, side by side, the treats their neighbour offered sitting on the nightstand.

“So,” Megatron begins, “You think you are a failure that’s why you’re over-confident in me.”

“Yeah.” Optimus admits, “Doesn’t help when you look over-confident in yourself too.”

“Tell you a secret.” Megatron laughs, “It’s a hoax.”

Optimus doesn’t look convinced, “Is it?”

“Remember those prep talks you used to give? It’s something like that.”

Optimus rolls over and faces the empty ceiling. He sighs deeply.

“You are not supposed to be able to hear those talks.” He says.

“Soundwave did his job.”

“Point not taken.”

“OK,” Megatron sighs, “imagine you worked yourself up, polished and primped, to get ready for a campaign after enduring 600 vorns of vanquishment.”

“Which I failed degradingly.”

“Which you failed degradingly,” Megatron agrees, “But I didn’t even stand up, did I? Didn’t get myself to work on it. Couldn’t wrap my head around it. If Starscream didn’t pull this nomination thing on me? I would have already left, the way I did the first time. Look at me now, I’m a clown.”

“So what?” Optimus laughs, “You still get the job done.”

“Yes.” Megatron agrees. “You get the job done, being a clown, getting hit in the face, falling to the ground, being called a disgrace to the society, story of my life.”

A long moment of silence.

“Look at us.” The ex-warlord says. “We are a pair of degenerates.”

“Yes.” Optimus nods fondly, “Exactly.”

The next morning Optimus wakes up from a nightmare he can’t remember, breathing heavy and sweating cold. He’s relieved to find Megatron is no longer recharging by his side, followed by a slim sense of disappointment, then he hears a loud bang in the kitchen like something just hit the floor.

He leaves the bed and finds Megatron in the kitchen, leaning to the counter, a pot of boiling mercury milk squawking on the oven, and a few datapads scattering around.

“Megatron.” He begin.

“I think,” Megatron says, a hangover sharpening his voice even more than usual, “I think Soundwave never left Cybertron.”

Optimus knees down before him.

“What makes you say so?” He asks.

“I had this feeling, this idea when I was looking at Drift yesterday.” The mech anxiously rubs his chin, “I checked this morning. I think,” He says, voice now slightly trembling, “I think, I might be right about this one.”

He closes his eyes, shutting them tight once then open. He continues to explain.

“The Core has been doing me small favours ever since I showed up. It has been doing me favours before I came along, too. But only small things. Things no one will take seriously. A prank, a conveniently pre-existing file, a glitching monitor, and emails sent in by mistake.”

“Finding Deathsaurus wasn’t my idea either. The files passed to me were pre-signed by the Core. I asked for some elaborations and it dropped to my laps.”

“This morning I woke up and I found a map, I marked all the locations where I received those favours. Turns out they were all not too far from a Core’s portal and each hint was dropped immediately after I voice the request. Only when I voice my request.”

“I tested out my theory.” Megatron points to the datapads on the floor, “Everything I ask for, it shows up on the datapads. And everything I receive, everything that was passed to my HUD is pre-signed by the Core. He’s doing his jobs only on demand, like a computer in disguise. It’s almost impossible to tell if it’s an AI or a real mech but an AI has no reason to listen to me or prioritise me. AIs don’t act, they don’t love, people do.”

Optimus nods, trying to digest what he’s just been told.

“There is only one way to decipher his strange behaviour. He’s been held hostage.” Megatron concludes, he fanatically points to the datapads on the floor. “And, and look at where these glitching favours date back to? My file is from the right beginning of this planet’s history. How long has he been here?”

Optimus gently puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” he soothes, “You could be wrong. It could be someone else. One of your loyal followers who happens to work for the Council since the very beginning.”

“The only mech capable of such programming and would go that far for me _is_ Soundwave.” Megatron hisses.

“Then maybe it _is_ Soundwave.” Optimus says, “But not himself, but an AI version of his personality he puts in there as a virus. He would have done that, wouldn’t he?”

Megatron shuts his optics and nods.

“Yes, he would.” He murmurs, nodding erratically, “Perhaps it isn’t him. But if it is him.” He pauses, he opens his optics and shuts them twice, “To know that I left him to this.”

Optimus reaches for him and cups his face with his palms. Words of comfort hanging on the tip of his tongue, when all of a sudden realisation strikes him like a thunder.

“You said you marked every location where the Core suddenly turns in your favour.” He says, “You said you read Deathsaurus’ file right here, in my flat.”

In less than a klik’s time, Megatron rises his helm, they glance at each other, same realisation in their eyes.

“I think,” Megatron says, “I think we should start searching, right now.”

“Let’s tear this place apart.” Optimus agrees. “To a billion pieces.”

Later that day Rodimus finds Soundwave in his favourite simulation. It’s forever sunny outside this simulated version of _Nemesis_. Time has no meaning in this realm. Soundwave is sitting by the window, with his back facing the door when Rodimus entered the room.

“You don’t look well.” The telepath whispers.

“You aren’t even looking.” The young Prime says.

“This is merely a projection.” Soundwave says, “I’m not really here. Neither physically nor mentally. The door is me, so is this room.”

“Creepy.” Rodimus comments.

And Soundwave laughs. The short chuckle makes the young Primes curious, he steps forward but is too late to catch a glimpse.

“I can sense your feelings too.” Soundwave adds. “You are curious.”

“And you are sad.” Rodimus says, “I don’t need fancy telepathy to figure that out.”

He moves a chair to his lone companion and sits by his side, overlooking a false yet breathtaking scenery from the window.

“Tell me about it.” He says.

The telepath shakes his helm, he then turns around to face Rodimus, a cube of hot drink in his hand.

“So, Shockwave will start uploading files to your processor today.” He says.

“I think so.” Rodimus nods, “which means we’re spending some time alone from now. I think it’s our chance.”

“It certainly is.” Soundwave agrees, he pulls a hologram of the map, “This place is underneath a district of night clubs. I can cut off the electricity. It will take about 5 kliks before the emergency generator kicks in. I’ll make it 10.”

“We need to aim for the best timing then.” Rodimus says. “What if he doesn’t believe me.”

“Then you tell him something only I would know.” Soundwave says.

Shockwave, as Soundwave expects, looks as colourful as he remembers the day he left the Iacon Prison. His gigantic chestplate coloured in rainbow, his pelvis part fluorescent yellow, and his limbs in four different colours with his gun hand decorated with extra jewels. A very clever strategy, to distract people from wondering what those beads really are. As a telepath, he has never really understood Shockwave as mechs usually assume he would. After the Treaty, people expected Shockwave to be the more responsible commander between the two, yet it turns out quite the opposite. His desire for emotions was real and the “regret” he achieved, is real too. However, Soundwave doubts if he would have chosen a different path if given another chance.

“A fascinating project,” The scientist has described Rodimus as such, “stubborn, yet not untouchable.”

“Have you unsensitised his neural system.” He asks.

“As I promised.” Bludgen answers, “It isn’t easy to acquire such large amount of nucleon to put him into his unsensitised state.”

“As I said before,” Shockwave comments as he plugs into Rodimus’ exposed brain module, “You have a habit of overdosing. Remember what happened to Overlord. You’d think point percenters grow on the tree.”

Before Bludgen can voice his protest, the room goes completely dark. After a moment of silence, Shockwave mocks calmly.

“Exactly my point, Bludgen.” He says, “You should take your experiments more professionally. If you had taken my advice into consideration, such triviality should not have come in our way.”

“I’ll check the generator.” Bludgen says, “You stay here until I’m back.”

He then locks the door from outside. Obviously Shockwave isn’t a trusted mech either. In the pure darkness, the one-optic mech narrows his glowing one optic. Sometimes he feels like his outstanding night vision isn’t appreciated enough by his co-workers. His attention is shifted back to the operating table when he realises his patient seems to be moving slightly. With his unusual night vision and a good understanding in lips reading, he manages to realise Rodimus seems to be speaking to him. With only half a tongue left in his mouth he isn’t quite succeeding in vocalising his words, but he has made it clear by moving his lips exaggeratingly. Three words, followed by a big fat grin on his face.

Soundwave. Says. Hi.

Shockwave freezes on the spot, his one optic dilated to its fullest glow and before he knows it, he grasps the neck of his victim and lifts him from the table. However, when their optics meet he finds himself at a loss for words. It takes him what feels like forever to demand what he always demands.

“Prove it!”

Rodimus pauses, then his lips begin to move again. Word by word, he spells it out for him.

You. Loved. Him.

The glowing optic grows impossibly bright, the rim of which turns to a pinkish red. Is it a sign of anger, excitement or even grief? Rodimus looks at the faceless expression with blatant confusion but Soundwave merely strokes his fins in such casual, soothing manner as if he had expected it.

Eight kliks have passed. The power will be back soon.

“Where is he?” Shockwave suddenly demands.

Almost subconsciously, Rodimus turns his helm to the darkness beside the table, gazing at absolutely nothing like a delusional lunatic, but Shockwave finds himself unable to turn his optic away from gazing where the young Prime is looking at. His optic is met with Soundwave’s, in two different dimensions, after hundreds of vorns, for the very first time.

“Not past tense.” The scientist says, calm and indifferent as ever, matter-of-factly, “Inaccurate. Not past tense.”

Then the lights are turned back on again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angsty Shockwave had a stupid crush. It didn't go well.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments last week!  
> Here's a short chapter....

Jazz was yanked out of brig during his recharge. He looks up and meets the one optic of Shockwave glowing in darkness. He lets out a choked laugh but the scientist immediately covers his mouth with his gun hand, a data chip is thrusted into his hands.

“Here, the location of this place and a copy of their research data. I didn’t have enough time to analyse it before the download was completed. You’ll have to figure out their intentions on your own.” Shockwave says.

“Wiat, wait a sec, Shocky,” the spy tries to protest, “Where is Hot Rod? Have you found him yet? I have to leave with him.”

“He’s not here with other subjects. He’s in Iacon, Bludgen’s old nightclub. I put the address in the data chip.” Shockwave says, “We are underground in the middle of a desert, you’ll also have to make it back to Iacon on your own, then find help. I cannot go with you. I have to stay to make sure that young Prime stays alive long enough for the upcoming rescue.”

“I know you’d come along.” The spy hisses, sliding the data chip into his subspace, “But be gentler next time alright? Being pushy gets you nowhere near the berth.”

“I have no intention of taking you into any object that is remotely defined as a berth by any sentient species in this universe.” The scientist confirms, “Your plan is blatantly inefficient and illogical. Bring down your own conjunx endura to gain trust of your enemy, only to be taken prisoner the instance you’ve been admitted to the research facility you were looking for? You have sacrificed our one lone chance of external alliance and back-up for too little. Counting on me to become compromised and release you back to safety is highly inappropriate, and unethical.”

“Our chance of external alliance and back-up.” Jazz drunkenly chuckles, “I like the sound of that. Prowl would love to hear you called him that.”

“Prowl would not be pleased to see you, given the current circumstances.” Shockwave bitterly points out.

“Ha, I wouldn’t be too happy to see him either!” Jazz shakes his helm half delirious, his pedes keep stumbling around against his will, “It would have been so much easier if we still have Mirage on our team! Guess where he is right now?”

“With the Allspark as I’ve heard.” The scientist clumsily opens the door to the exit, steadying the ex-spy with one hand.

“So you’ve done your bit of research.” Jazz murmurs.

“Yes.” Shockwave confirms, “But it’s not the perfect time for you to throw a tantrum over Prowl’s poor taste in decision-making.”

He proceeds to drag the spy’s frame across the room, “At this point I won’t even pretend to understand whether you truly love him or genuinely hate him.”

“People can do both.” Jazz says, “Most people can. Only mechs like you and Prowl, believe you can really choose.”

Shockwave doesn’t talk back to this one. Instead he asks, “Can you not walk on your own?”

“No.” Jazz murmurs. “You’ll have to, hide me for a bit I think, to allow me a few joors to get it out of my system. It usually works better when you make everyone think you escaped but in fact you’re still staying extra joors. Even fooled Soundwave a few times.”

Perhaps the pinch of syk they put in his energon has indeed granted him a bit more than just a pair of useless feet, because Shockwave looks like he is in pain hearing the name Soundwave.

“You will have to thank him later.” Shockwave says as he carries the spy into his quarter.

Behind the two of them, standing next to the gate of the underground prison, Soundwave turns the surveillance and security systems back online.

By sunset, the two tenants have already torn down their previous habitat to an unrecognisable shape. Even the best photographer on Cybertron cannot do this fine mess the justice it deserves. Yet despite the thorough effort, they sit in the ruins of their shared home empty-handed, exchanging suggestive glances, talking with small gestures over their private comm line. As long as they haven’t found the ghostly bug installed in this place just yet, they cannot risk being heard.

:What else do you suggest we do now?: Megatron asks, :The window frame maybe?:

:The window frame is skinned, and so are the walls.: Optimus sighs, :We skin them any thinner they will collapse. I’d like to think eavesdropping devices this thin haven’t been invented yet.:

:Is there a hidden quarter beneath this floor too?:

:The place under us is hidden to no one.: Optimus sighs :It’s the laundromat and the power distribution.:

A pause.

:Let’s go take a look.: Optimus says.

The laundromat, as it usually does, beams too much extra warmth that pops an infinite queue of warnings in Megatron’s tired processor. The transformer boxes are no helping either being extra loud. This whole room gives any living being a killer headache. But perks are they can finally speak freely.

“And you live above this place?” Megatron is practically shouting in order to be heard.

“Save me money spent on heating in every winter.” Optimus shouts back.

“What about SUMMER?”

“Stay at the blender’s around the corner till midnight.”

Fortunately for them, there aren’t any customers using the laundry machines tonight. Optimus went through them one by one as Megatron checked the distribution box. In the end, neither of them managed to find anything suspicious in this room. They rushed outside and bought a cuppa at the blender’s around the corner, with extra ice to cool down their burning platings.

“Do you,” Megatron asks as the waitress places their cubes on the table, “have enough money to cover up the cost if your landlord finds out what happened to his premise.”

“No.” Optimus takes a sip into his cube then licks clean the creamy topping around his lips, “But they are not allowed to put me into prison or banish me from the planet. They’ve already made up a fake residential status to fit me in. What else can they do? Come up with a second-degree probation?”

“I think I rub off on you too much recently.” Megatron mutters into his own cube. He puts it down biting on an ice cube with his teeth, “Alright, when we go back to that room later you call the police and tell them you found it already destroyed. I’ll be your witness. Some hater did it. Case closed.”

“Not before we figure out how the Core heard your request.” Optimus says. “There are rooms below, above, and around my flat. The device must be installed in one of them.”

“That leaves us with the neighbours,” says Megatron as he gulps around an ice cube. “How many neighbours do you have? Maybe we can slip into the empty rooms tonight.”

“The complex is very occupied. I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Optimus rubs his nose bridge, “We need narrow it down a bit. By the way can you stop licking it? It looks gross.”

“Occupied?” Megatron crushes the ice cube in his mouth and swallows, “According to that distribution box, most power cords go into 314B. I almost thought that’s the only occupied room on this floor.”

“Room 314B, you say.” Optimus frowns. He takes the spoon in the saucer and scoops a mouthful of that creamy icy toping. “Huh.”

Later that night they knocked the door to 314B, Optimus holding a cup of ice smoothie in hand and Megatron carrying a tray of energon cookies.

Their neighbour, an average-sized mech with blue armours and wheels for knees opens the door. He looks a bit surprised to see them both but lightens up quickly when he sees the cookies.

“We gave you quite a bit trouble last night.” Optimus shyly apologises, “Thank you for keeping my spare key. I rarely get that drunk.”

“Oh I can tell.” The mech laughs warmly, “You are adorable that way by the way.”

Megatron coughs.

“Oh and,” The mech quickly turns for his other guest, “those cookies are for me? Thank you so much. You are such a sweet one.”

Megatron coughs again.

“They are probably not as good as the ones you gave us last night.” Optimus smiles, “We are wondering if you can show us your secret recipe, if that’s okey with you. My roommate is quite fond of cooking recently.”

“Of course!” The mech laughs, he turns around to find a pen, “Let me write it down.”

Then a hit on his neck knocks him out.

He wakes up later in his own berth, bound to the frame. The quiet one of his two neighbours is reading by his side, while the usually louder one fondly roaming around his collection of consoles and devices.

“So,” the loud one begins, “this is where all the power goes. It must have taken quite some work to build them here.”

“Agent Makeshift, I presume.” The quiet one, Optimus puts down the file he’s been reading, “So, I take it you’ve been assigned to watch over me for quite some time by now.”

“Uh.” Makeshift stirs uncomfortably.

Megatron takes the tray in hand and bites on one of his cookies. He chews very loudly.

Makeshift stills again.

“Yeah.” He nods, “something like that. But it’s not like I don’t really live here myself.”

“So the Council has been watching over me since I dropped out of that election and got myself on that freshly made-up probation.” Optimus concludes.

“To make sure you stay safe.” Makeshift insists. “No one is harmed.”

Optimus quickly flips the pages in the drawer and sighs deeply, “My privacy begs to differ.”

“Good intentions still count.” Makeshift insists.

Optimus only nods ever so inattentively.

“These are connected to the Core, aren’t they?” Megatron cuts in, pointing to the massive consoles built to the walls, “You are free to report to and hear from the Core right in your berth room.”

Slowly, Makeshift nods to confirm his theory.

“So,” Megatron touches the screen to activate the portal, “You can look up a few confidential things here for us, can’t you? If you want to live.”

“I, uh.” Makeshift begins, “I do not want to start a new war.”

“Neither do us.” Optimus calmly confirms, “Actually, quite the contrary, we are trying to stop a new war from rising.”

“That, actually,” Makeshift tries. “sounds very unstable of you.”

“Your life is very unstable.” Megatron huffs, “And you’re more worried about our mental stability. I’m touched.”

Despite Optimus’ protest he loads a gun and points it at the spy mech.

“Now I need you to look something up for us.” He demands, “The overdose amount of syk is between 2-5 ounces. It depends on the frame type. It averagely takes 2 ounces to overdose a speedster, and 4 to kill one. A constant flow of 0.05 ounce per minute in nucleon to keep a drugged mech under its influence.”

He points the gun to Makeshift’s forehead.

“I want you to hack into all the surveillances of this city and pull information on all the buyers in the past decacycle. Then find all the ones who keep coming back for more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been having this question forever...  
> Why does Overlord have two pink puddings on his shoulders?


	27. Chapter 27

“So…” after an uncomfortably long joor of mutual silence, Rodimus finally works up the courage to ask, “When you told me to say ‘him’, you actually meant you.”

Sitting by the window, a cube of forever lukewarm oil in hand, Soundwave nods his confirmation.

“So, Shockwave, had a thing, for you.”

“Affirmative.”

After a long pause, Rodimus leans back to the wall.

“It makes no sense. I mean, he did this to you. That pretty much casts him out of the question indefinitely. He doesn’t get to have ideas.” He says, “But I guess since it’s Shockwave. Maybe it’s logical for him to lust over someone, when he can’t even prove you still exist.”

“He didn’t know.” Slowly, Soundwave says.

“What do you mean?”

“He didn’t know he liked me at all until I was gone.” Soundwave quietly explains.

Rodimus nods thoughtfully at the statement. “Yeah, that actually happens a lot.”

He pauses and adds, “But you knew before he did, didn’t you?”

“I’m a telepath.” Soundwave sounds even quieter than usual, “I witness similar situations on a daily basis. It’s nothing new to me.”

“But you kept quiet about it.”

“I kept quiet about it.”

Another silent moment.

“Soundwave I think,” Rodimus stutters, “I think you kept quiet about too many things. You should have told someone. Maybe you wouldn’t have ended up here if you did. Maybe you should have told Megatron how you felt before we had that deal, or maybe you should have told Shockwave then told him he could have a chance. Maybe you should have reached out to him vorns ago. Earlier, before I came into the picture.”

“I told the cassettes.”

“And where are they now?”

“With the Allspark.” Soundwave answers softly.

Rodimus stares at him right in the optics, he isn’t even particularly surprised. He’s figured as much. There is no other reason he’s never even brought them up even once.

“I’m sorry, Soundwave.” He quietly apologises. “I know I’m at least partially responsible for what happened to them.”

“Don’t be.” The telepath says, “They made their choice. Not all host mechs are telepathic. I asked them to leave but they chose me. We took the risk together, not for you, but for Cybertron. They should not be pitied. They should be honoured.”

“Is this,” Rodimus pauses, “is this why you wouldn’t let Shockwave find you even if he tries so desperately? You know you could have tried, maybe he could have pulled you out. But you can’t forgive him enough to do this.”

“No.” Soundwave shakes his helm, he turns away to look at the stunning scenery outside, “Maybe.”

Not physically far from them, yet in another dimension, Shockwave is also having a heart-to-heart with an immobilised spy, confessing about the secret of the Core’s initial design.

“Damn,” Jazz lets out a bitter laugh, “I knew you had a thing for him. I knew it.”

Shockwave is more annoyed than agitated, he sits down by the desk in his assigned room, looking at the over-joyed ex-spy in the optics.

“Illogical.” He comments. “Even I didn’t figure it out.”

“Logical, totally logical.” Jazz cheers, “See, a logician strategist had a crush on a spy. Sound familiar to you?”

Shockwave narrows his one optic, “Prowl and I do not share as many traits as the tabloids indicated.”

“Oh if they had knew you gutted the ex-spy you had a crush on during the war and dumped him to the gutters when the war was over, they would have added so many more to the list. See? It checks out, ticking every box from the top to the rock bottom.”

Shockwave pauses.

“You are nothing like Soundwave.” He comments.

“You hurt my feelings, Dr. Shock.” Jazz smiles, “Do you want to know why Soundwave didn’t like you? You’d better start from here. Lesson one, don’t hurt your delicate little spy’s feelings. We are very delicate creatures. Next time you see a pretty little spy like myself running around, you throw a pokeball at them and you cherish them with your spark.”

“Pokeball?”

Jazz makes a funny face, “Earth term for comfy blankets.”

“Prowl married you with a blanket?”

“Prowl married me with less.” Jazz huffs, “But he did throw a few things at me. Some of those are actually not mission-related so I easily took the hint.”

“That is why I’m wiser than your Prowl.” Shockwave concludes, “I never threw anything at him. No blanket. No pokeball. He had no hint to take.”

“But he doesn’t need no hint, does he?” Jazz huffs, “He’s one nasty mind-reader. Living the wet dream of every spy, digging every processor like they are his. See how he just turned the table on you tonight, you’d wonder what a grand collection of hints he has built through the years. In the end, he’s the one who dropped no hint for you to take. And that, that is the problem of logicians like you, like Prowl. You think you’re being the cleverest aft in the universe, while all this time you’re just clueless, defenceless little sparklings in a world of adults.”

Shockwave’s optic lights up. “You think he’d forgive me like you did?”

“Of course not.” Jazz laughs, “You’re just not even worth blaming.”

Shockwave makes a strangled whine that Jazz can’t quite figure out the meaning of, he raises his helm and is about to announce he’s now ready to leave when something drops to his laps.

“What is this?” Jazz carefully examine the small device.

“A wireless hacking device to the Core.” Shockwave says, “In form of a full-body hologram projector with personal interaction panel, video and voice feeds. I want you to deliver this to Megatron. He’ll know what to do with it.”

Almost nervously, he adds, “If it’s Megatron instead of me, he might actually show up.”

Jazz slides it into his subspace. “Do you ever wonder why? I think it’s because your Lord Megatron asks to be forgiven. And logicians like yourself are just too stubborn to apologise.”

“It’s illogical to apologise for making the right decisions.” The scientist insists as he waves him goodbye. “Unintelligent people like yourself should be grateful that I did.”

“Yeah.” Jazz keeps that soggy smile on his face as he examines his tires, “Just don’t be too late, alright? Life isn’t as long as you think.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Jazz sighs, pulling out the map of the desert, “Now, where is the shortcut to Iacon?”

“Across the valley to our north, you Autobots used to take that path when shipping refugees out of Iacon.”

“It’s the opposite definition of a shortcut.” Jazz sighs.

“It’s the safest.” Shockwave says, “Anyway, I highly recommend it.”

“Do you think Hot Rod can wait that long?”

“At this point your alliance is more valuable to me than his chance of survival, and the latter one is the easier task of the two, so to maintain our partnership, I’ll figure him out.” Shockwave explains. “Perhaps I’ll allow Bludgen to have a few small victories. Now leave, and make sure Megatron get that device. Rodimus Prime isn’t the only one worth saving.”

The next morning, a frustrated Bludgen comes to Shockwave’s quarters.

“You don’t happen to have seen an Autobot spy today, do you?” He demands.

“Why would I?” Shockwave calmly denies, “My job has kept my hand full ever since you locked me in. But regardless, I have made progress.”

“Here,” he hands out a few datapads, “I have recovered some severed data threads he deliberately deleted. I believe these are the comm. link frequencies he dialled right before he was captured. Perhaps one of these frequencies will answer his call.”

When Makeshift pulls out the map of all the surveillance hotspots equipped with the Core’s terminals, Optimus is stunned and Megatron is deeply horrified.

“I never knew it’s such a sophisticated piece of work.” Says Optimus. “It’s such a wide range of coverage, and unbelievable density.”

“I don’t like it.” Megatron comments.

To his surprise, Makeshift agrees with him.

“I know your feeling.” The shapeshifter agrees, “I was all into conspiracy theory myself when they first showed me this in spy school. The growth of this network makes you question reality.”

Megatron frowns, “You were in a spy school?”

Makeshift stays silent.

“You say this network is still growing?” Optimus asks.

“Mostly by merging other systems.” Makeshift explains, “The non-affiliated portion of the Council are against the idea of weaponizing information. To pacify both parties Senator Vedette proposed a merging plan. It allows private networks to hop on the Core. After a few vorns it becomes a favourable option for small business owners such as the owner of that blender’s around the corner.”

Optimus thoughtfully pauses and asks, “What about build-in chips.”

Makeshift stirs uncomfortably, “I know what you’re thinking. Processor mods to allow mechs directly connect themselves to the Core was brought up once. The spy school was assigned to test the possibility, not compulsory but by taking volunteers. The project was put to an end before it even started. The Core’s technician team provided evidence of the device causing potential damage to brain modules.”

He pauses, focusing again on his console. “But Prowl’s gone now.”

Prowl was the Core’s chief maintenance specialist, the head of the technician team. He was part of the cover-up story of the Matrix disappearance. Could it be because one of the senators figured it out?

Optimus is still deeply buried in his own thoughts when Megatron suddenly cuts in.

“You were a Decepticon spy, weren’t you?”

Makeshift suddenly looks nervous and sweaty. It confirms the answer. Megatron proceed to push even further.

“You worked for Soundwave.”

The spy agent stays silent, yet Megatron keeps waiting, pushing the spy to his limit. Eventually, Makeshift gives in.

“I’m not a Decepticon traitor.” He says.

“No one says you are.” Megatron mutters.

“They all did.” Makeshift says, “After you beat our spymaster to scraps on the bridge, the army just assumed our department was compromised. The intelligence agency was pretty much non-existent when the combined government started recruiting. Only a few true loyalists lived through the rumours and still stayed to make sure the Autobots stayed in line.”

“I suppose you weren’t one of the loyalists then.”

Anger slips away from the face of the shapeshifter. “I wasn’t. I ran away and made myself a new identity. New identities always come in handy when you’re a shapeshifter, but I never really got used to the new life, thinking about going back all the time. I re-joined the force about a hundred vorns ago. They were recruiting, I signed myself up.”

“Right after Optimus’ case?”

His face flinches. “Yeah, probably because of that. But I guess mostly because Jazz was fired. Prowl made sure that was the last thing he did before he resigned from the law enforcement service. Much like Commander Soundwave’s situation, Jazz’ followers ran away with him. The new Spec Ops officer had too many vacancies to fill in, so he pulled in favours from a few familiar faces, mine included.”

“The current Spec Ops officer was a Decepticon? One of Soundwave’s loyalists that stayed?”

“Noisemaze.” Makeshift turns his optics away. “Maybe you don’t remember him, he was”

“He was Soundwave’s sleeper agent Sideways.” Megatron continues, “Also rumoured to be his spark brother.”

Makeshift turns silent again. He prints out the data logs into a datapad and unplugs it from his console.

“Here is the name list of drug dealers that match your description, and their profiles. Take it and leave. I won’t report to my supervisor.”

Megatron narrows his optics. Makeshift thrusts it into his hands but the ex-warlord catches his wrist right in time.

“Did you volunteer?” He asks, “To that processor plug-in project.”

“Yes.” Makeshift lies. “Why do you think Noisemaze pulled in our ancient favours?”

“And what did you find?”

“If I ever found solid proof I wouldn’t have been stationed here. There were too many strings behind the wanton puppet. But the project was terminated, so I’d like to call it a victory.”

“You are awfully honest for a Decepticon.” Megatron comments.

“You are Lord Megatron.” Makeshift says, “And I’m a coward.”

Megatron releases his wrist.

The two of them left his flat later that night, a datapad of confidential information in hand.

“He doesn’t strike me as a coward.” Optimus comments. “I think he dislikes you.”

“I mistreated his commander and his kind.” Megatron’s face is unreadable, “He’s entitled to.”

“We’ve all been convinced the only connection between the victims, Starscream, Prowl, Hot Rod and Drift, is the energon poisoning.” Optimus says, “But maybe we are wrong. If we add Soundwave’s disappearance to this case, he doesn’t fit in.”

“What do you suggest?”

“The supercomputer was supposedly designed with the Matrix as its processor. Rodimus is the Matrix carrier, Drift is his partner, Prowl was the secret keeper, Starscream was digging into his secret when the video was leaked to the public. And if Soundwave was truly abducted, we all know what he specialises in.”

Megatron doesn’t answer.

“We need to find out who developed that portable build-in device they tried to install to the spies.” Optimus suggests.

“Or the mech who funded the invention, or the mech behind the sponsor.” Megatron’s voice is unnaturally steady, “Or some other mech even behind him. It’s a never-ending name list. We do not have information on the Neutrals.”

The unusual bitterness in his tone concerns Optimus, he quickly changes the topic. “Is Noisemaze really related to Soundwave?”

“No.” Megatron says, “Noisemaze is telepathic.”

Optimus suddenly stands still, yet Megatron merely marches on.

“Decepticon 101, if you are a monster but you want a normal life, you find a bigger monster and hide under his wings.” He continues.

Optimus does not follow his steps. “Does it also define your relationship with Soundwave himself?”

Megatron stops, he turns around to look at the Prime.

“No.” He says, “He’s no monster. I am.”

Fortress Maximus is relieved to see the ship docks into Lost light’s loading bay. The door openes to reveal a smiling Thunderclash and his crew.

“Max!” The Autobot greets.

“Thunderclash.” The tank steps forward, his friend then pulls him into a tight hug.

It doesn’t take the Autobot long to realise they have a small four-legged companion hovering around their pedes.

“Who’s this little fellow here?” Thunderclash laughs, bending one knee to reach for the turbofox’s forehead.

Before Overlord attempts to bite Fort Max grabs his wrist and guide him up.

“We raided Scorponok’s lab earlier this lunar cycle.” He smiles. “Let’s talk inside.”

Once they settled in the captain’s quarters, Fort Max filled him in regarding the current situation.

“So Rodimus still hasn’t returned.” Thunderclash lets out a sigh. “No news is good news.”

“I don’t really know if I can manage any longer.”

“You’ve managed just fine, my friend.” Thunderclash pats him on the shoulder, “The Lost Light is only half a quantum jump away from Cybertron.”

“Yet I’m unable to make that half a jump, Thunderclash.” Fort Max sighs, “I asked the team to slow down the ship and wait for your arrival. We need your guidance.”

Thunderclash shakes his helm, “Cybertron is our home. Maybe you barely remember much of it, but you do not need guidance to find your own home, Max. All you need to do is to embrace it.”

“Thunderclash, half of my crew were wanted by the said home when it established its new laws.”

“Half of its current residents were wanted by those unfair laws too.” Thunderclash argues, “Deathsaurus was even on the List. He now works for the Council.”

“And what happened to his soldiers?” Fort Max asks, “Did they give them citizenship at all?”

Thunderclash falls silent.

Fortress Maximus lowers his helm, the turbofox hovers over his feet, sniffing the consoles, looking curious. He turns his optics back to Thunderclash.

“You have to take the captain’s position.” He says, “Your sheer presence is enough to persuade the Council to nod.”

“Max,” Thunderclash moves closer, “Listen to me, I know what you’re thinking.”

“Do you?” Fort Max shots back, “I’m running a ship carrying ex-prisoners, defected soldiers, off-world merchants, and religious mercenaries, whose captain has been missing ever since the engines were started. I have no idea how it managed to fly this far at all. People just come to me with questions regarding internal errands, supplies and schedules because I used to run a prison. “We are flying to a planet that has deemed most of the crew, including myself, dead, not worth saving, or worse. I have no idea why I’m sitting in this room, either.”

“I’m tired, Thunderclash.” He admits, “I cannot let this ship fly right into a trap.”

“And by giving this ship to me,” Thunderclash asks, “what do you expect to come out of it?”

“Understanding, sympathy, trust.” Fort Max says, “You are a war hero.”

“ _You_ are a war hero.” Thunderclash snaps.

“A _dead_ war hero.” Fort Max says. “Some people wear crowns on their helms, some wear them on their graves. You’ve been there, you’ve seen enough.”

The turbofox silently claws a scratch mark on the communications console, but neither of the two mechs paid him attention.

After a long, silent moment Thunderclash begins.

“Prowl is imprisoned.”

Both Fort Max and Overlord raise their optics, almost startled.

“I audited in the court. He confessed he hired criminals under the table in attempt to assassinate Megatron. Against the better judgement of the Council, he went as far as hiring Overlord under the table, he promised the phase sixer information, safety and freedom, which directly led to the disappearance of Spec Ops agent Mirage.”

And to the capture and suffering of said phase sixer himself, too. Thought Overlord.

Fort Max seems unable to find his tongue, but Thunderclash gives him no time to compose his answer.

“I understand your concerns.” He says, “I can take the title if you deem it necessary. But I promise you this much, Cybertron is changing, and it’s our duty to make sure it changes for the better. In return I want a promise from you too.”

He reaches out and cups the tank’s face with his palms.

“Fortress Maximus, I need you to promise me you will treat yourself the way you deserve, once I take the title.”

He looks him directly in the optics. The silent gaze sees him right through, reaching his spark and baring all his secrets. It is almost a tender moment of vulnerability. He’s almost tempted to turn away again, but instead he forces himself to confront Thunderclash, baring his wishes, swallowing hard.

“Deal.” He says.

Thunderclash backs down, he lets out a sigh, only half convinced. “Then I’ll agree.”

The turbofox licks his declawed paws as the greatest Autobot of all time leaves the quarter, leaving an exhausted ex-captain proxy behind all on his own. Instead of the warm, caring optics of Thunderclash, the tank raises his helm to meet the silent, indecipherable gaze of the turbofox. He shakes his helm.

“No,” he says, as if it answers the question, “we are not that close. He likes to think everyone’s a friend but I don’t think I’m ready for friendship.”

He pauses, “What about you?”

The turbofox stays silent, but Fort Max smiles at him and plays along, waiting for an answer. The silence between them is suddenly put to an end by an abrupt beep from the communications console. It’s an incoming call. Fort Max quickly presses the answer button.

“Hot Rod?” He asks, the joy and horror in his voice are both intensely thick.

No answer.

The captain quickly plugs in the signal source tracker but the call already ends.

“We are already within Cybertron’s range of communications network.” The tank whispers. He turns on the speaker, “Call in all the pilots and the engine operators. We need to make a detour tonight.”

Brainstorm was quickly summoned in to decipher the caller’s real identity. It didn’t take long for the genius to figure out someone’s directly tapping through Rodimus’ private line.

“It means the caller is still alive.” Brainstorm explains, “Physically at least. And his brain module is exposed, connected to the real caller.”

“At least we know there’s still hope.” Thunderclash says, “Despite everything, he’s made it to Cybertron.”

Fort Max examines the codes on the HUD. “The latter part of the caller ID seems foreign.”

“It’s corrupted but ideally it’s the true caller’s frequency heavily coded by his own firewall.” Brainstorms explains. “Someone familiar with his firewall coding or from the same batch may be able to recognise it.”

He’s correct, Overlord recognised the frequency. It’s from Bludgen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late updates. Recently elevated policy in reaction to outbreaks has officially made it impossible for me to return home. I try to find a local job but to deal with the local unemployment rate all local jobs are only open to citizens. Fortunately I still have savings so now I live in a motel. It's hardly the worst situation I'v got myself into but I can't bring myself to write as often as before.


	28. Chapter 28

Overlord has never thought his life will come to this one day. Frankly speaking most part of his life has unironically been a freak show, and he has never imagined his life would end in any way remotely peaceful. Having his helm crushed under Megatron’s heels sounds more than likely, and in his deepest and darkest fantasies, slightly appetising. But sneaking into the bridge on all-fours during the middle of the night behind the back of his roommate, just to get to a communications panel and type in Bludgen’s frequency with declawed paws, failing 7 times in a row, simply sounds like a badly composed B-class comedy.

For his credit, Soundwave is as clueless when Rodimus’ comm. receiver comes to life as he tries to undo the damage from the other night at least on the coding level. For a klik, he is tempted to disconnect the link, but Bludgen is already in the room.

“It seems my effort has finally paid off.” The scientist grins.

Pulling it through, ex-Decepticon opens the message on his HUD, it’s a short text message looks like it’s either typed by a glitching drone or in great hurry.

:I’m on the ship you are looking for. I can give you the coordinates if we cut a deal.:

A ship. Bludgen frowns. So there really is a ship. He had thought there weren’t enough dead bodies on DK-27 when they landed on the planet. Perhaps this is the reason why Rodimus Prime has been so stubborn thus far. He’s covering the whereabouts of his ship of escaped friends. There is a high chance that the ship took the Matrix with it. And apparently, there is a traitor on board this ship. Question is, who is he, and what does this particular traitor want.

:What do you require in return?:

It took a while for the other to send in his response. Maybe the other mech isn’t in a hurry after all.

:A new frame.:

Now that particular request interests Bludgen. It explains why the mech is such a slow and clumsy typer. His frame is damaged. Perhaps the ship lacks the resources and techniques to repair his damage since they are on the run and covering their own trails behind their every step they simply can’t risk it, or perhaps.

Perhaps he’s someone not worth saving at all.

He types in :Who are you:

:A fellow Decepticon.:

Now that’s an interesting statement. The caller seems to know who he’s dealing with. Bludgen has never been particularly social during his time of service yet he can name a bunch of mechs who know his frequency.

However, sitting behind him, Soundwave has already deciphered the caller’s code. Fortunately, the reformatting Overlord was forced through did not come with a reprogramming package, and Soundwave was, once upon a time, asked to keep record of the phase sixer’s every update. Bludgen on the other hand, wasn’t trusted enough by Megatron to engage in the same project.

The spymaster can tell Overlord is already getting impatient on the other side of the line by the speed he types.

:The captain is a cautious mech. The ship is jumping to a different route tonight.:

:How much time do you have?: Bludgen types back.

:Two joors at most. I can make it three.:

:Not enough time for a custom-made.:

A pause longer than usual. It appears Overlord is considering the odds.

:I’ll settle with a mass production one.:

A mass production frame will not sustain a point percenter’s spark for long, Soundwave notes. If Overlord agrees to such proposal then his original frame must have been damaged beyond repair, putting the phase sixer into an exceedingly desperate state that he would agree to resort to such lowly deeds. Perhaps this is why he managed to survive on Rodimus’ ship, they were unable to recognise him in his damaged state. Perhaps Bludgen won’t recognise him either, given the chance. And if he simply agrees to plug Overlord into a functional yet cut-edge mass production frame, he might never will. Overlord knows exactly who he’s dealing with and he does not trust Bludgen.

The question is, will they team up once the deal is complete.

It seems like the logical choice, particularly since now when they both stand against Megatron himself, Bludgen probably will keep his part of the bargain, yet Overlord has never been known for calculating logistics.

After another moment of consideration, Bludgen types in his reply.

:I’ll ship an empty frame to you.:

Soundwave narrows his eyes. Now that is an alliance worth breaking.

A breem later, the job offer from Bludgen to his killer squad has been “accidentally” forwarded to Tarn.

Fortress Maximus was woken up by an emergency call to his private line, he rushes to the engine room and the maintenance team is already there.

“The valve to the cooling tower popped open and the liquid nitrogen inside has vaporised.” Nautica explains. “The quantum engine is overheating. We need an emergency supply run.”

“How did it pop open?” He asks.

The maintenance team looks at each other but gives no answer.

“Who found this first?” The tank asks.

“Rewind did.” Chromedome tilts his helm in his direction. “I was picking up Rewind after his night shift. His camera has a thermal imaging function and it caught the temperature drop in the engine room next door.”

“Where is he right now?”

“He says he’s going back to the surveillance room to see if he can find out when did it start.”

“It looks like we can’t take off as planned.” Fortress Maximus murmurs. “How much time does it take to cool down the engine using normal coolant?”

“If we fill the cooling tower to its capacity.” Nautica calculates, “About three joors.”

A voice rises from the other side of the room.

“There is another option.” Thunderclash walks in with heavy steps, “We let the Vis Vitalis do the job.”

“How many sections are overheating?” He turns to Nautica for answer.

“Only the second section of the west wing.” The femm replies.

“Then the engine of the Vis Vitalis is more than capable of making up for the lost part.” Thunderclash concludes.

“Is it really necessary?” Trailbreaker shrugs, “I mean, Vis Vitalis is literally your life support, right? And the Lost Light isn’t in any immediate danger or faced with direct threat. Three joors doesn’t sound too long.”

“What do you say?” Thunderclash turns to Fort Max.

Fort Max is about to speak when Red Alert comes banging his frequency in his typical hysterical panic.

“One of the emergency shuttles is deployed.” The security officer says, “I demand to know why?”

Fort Max suddenly tenses up, he has a bad feeling about this.

“Can you see who’s on it?” He asks.

“Rewind.” Red Alert states, “And Overlord. I can’t establish communications. Something’s blocking the line.”

Chromedone immediately rushes for the door to the deck with Fort Max following right behind. The shuttle seems to be running at its full speed and has already left the reaching range of the shuttle anchors. It doesn’t look like an accident, someone’s controlling the shuttle.

“Rewind is comming me. He says he followed the turbofox and got trapped in there. The door closed behind and the shuttle took off.” Chromedone manages to hold himself together in his panicking state. “We need someone with a flight mode. There is still time!”

“Go repair the engine as soon as you can. Make sure it’s ready to start when we return. Three joors at most.” Fort Max pushes the lock to the bridge into his hand, “Someone is already after us. Give it to Thunderclash. He’ll know what to do.”

“Max!” Chromedone grabs his arm, yet unsure what to say.

“I’ll be back with them.” With that, he jumps off the deck and ignites his thrusters.

While the crew of the Lost Light are facing their most recent crisis, Megatron is also having his very own mental breakdown.

“I, uh,” he explains to the massive shuttle in front of him, “according to Ratchet, since he’s now on leave, I’m assigned to your case and now officially your doctor.”

The shuttle nods ever so obediently.

“I’ll be checking up on your daily, making sure you stay healthy and your sparkling grow steadily, prescribing you special diet and eventually, deliver your child.”

The shuttle nods again.

Megatron lets out a frustrated sigh, he drags one hand across his face. “I can’t believe I’m saying this. I’m delivering Starscream’s sparkling.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Skyfire offers, “Starscream says thank you.”

“You just made this up, didn’t you?” Megatron says.

“Not exactly his words, but,” Skyfire shyly smiles, “gratitude is genuine.”

Megatron has no choice but to nod along, “Lie down now and let me finish the scan, we can gossip about Starscream later.”

The sparkling, despite all the conspiracy going on outside involving both his parents, is stunningly healthy. Megatron notes as he examines the image on the screen while gently pushing the probe to Skyfire’s slightly swollen belly. Due to his size, his carrying doesn’t show as much as the smaller mechs do.

“It’s a flight frame.” The ex-warlord concludes, “I’m not surprised, giving that both creators are flight frames. But it’s still too early to tell if he’ll be a seeker or space shuttle.”

The affection in Skyfire’s optics as he dopes to the image on the screen is unneglectable, yet so is the thick sorrow he’s carrying.

“Starscream will be alright.” Megatron tries to comfort, “He’s probably agonising the guards with his toxic personality as we speak.”

“I can imagine.” The shuttle laughs.

“And it’s hardly his first trip behind the bars.” Megatron says, “Primus know how many guards I had to relocate just to keep them sane and safe from Starscream’s screech. The brigs deck on the Nemesis had the fasted rotation. Starscream truly lives up to his name.”

“He was already infamous for his temper during our days at the Academy.” Skyfire smiles, “We run out of assistants really fast, too. But I find the strange noises he makes really adorable.”

“You two are truly made for each other.” Megatron shakes his helm in disbelief, gathering the probes and cables.

“We never bonded.”

Megatron’s hands stop in a startled shock. He turns around and see the sincerity in the shuttle’s eyes.

“How can you never” His words are interrupted by a bang at the door. Optimus walks in carrying a tower of boxes dangerously dangling above his head.

“This should be it.” The Prime sighs in relief when he finally puts them down on the table. “We are now officially settled in. Welcome to the new home and headquarters.”

He points to the operating table in the room next door.

“Are you sure you pulled all these bulks in without being noticed?” Megatron points to the heavy filing cabinet on the floor.

“Unless Makeshift breaks his promise and sells us out.” Optimus says. “I don’t think he’s in for it at least for now.”

Megatron shakes his helm, “Let’s just assume Soundwave’s got it covered.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Skyfire hesitantly suggests, “I may not be so useful as Starscream and Ratchet, but, I also want to help.”

“No, no, no.” Megatron emphasises, “Your job is to stay healthy and stay put. I don’t want Starscream on my aft for another four million years once he’s got himself out of that brig.”

“Actually,” Optimus pinches his nose bridge, “I would like to hear your point of view.”

“Don’t.” Megatron warns.

Optimus ignores him and goes ahead asking. “You frequent the Council Hall.”

“Yes.” The shuttle nods, “Mostly just to bug Starscream and make sure he eats well.”

“Has Starscream ever told you he finds someone or some project suspicious?”

“He dislikes most members of the council.” Skyfire confesses and behind him Megatron makes an embarrassed snort.

“I suppose he was looking into me, when he was framed.” He says.

“Yes.”

“What a surprise.” Megatron shakes his helm, “Anyway, if he truly did come close to an answer he would have already told us. With or without proof he’s gonna drag that mech into the brig with him. He’s particularly good at that sort of things.”

“As for the project he opposes to,” Skyfire humbly ignores him, “He dislikes the Cybertronian energon refinery project.”

“What about Project Core?” Optimus asks.

“He was against the system mergence idea proposed by the Neutrals.” Skyfire sighs, “Most affiliated mechs are. But Prowl was on their side.”

“So they disagreed with each other.” Megatron nods to the ex-Prime, “Still think it’s the Core that got them both framed?”

“Deathsaurus was one of the main players behind the energon poisoning case,” Optimus points it out, “so far he isn’t affected, no one has an eye on him. I think our mech is more interested in Project Core than spreading the poison.”

“Maybe they simply think Deathsaurus doesn’t pose a threat. Let’s say, from our interactions I can tell he isn’t particularly loyal to the Cybertronian Council. But Prowl and Starscream were both on the poisoning case when that video was leaked.” Megatron argues, “If they disagree with each other on something else then at least one of them is turning in their favour. Why did they remove both?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Optimus argues. “If they may weigh out Deathsaurus and Starscream then chose Starscream, it’s also possible they weighed out Prowl and Starscream and allow Prowl to fall with him.”

“Stop adding to many odds to the game.” Megatron snaps.

“OK, let’s say when Starscream’s gone, Megatron took his role as per request.” Optimus lets out a sigh and turns to Skyfire, “Who will take Prowl’s role as the chief engineer?”

“The technicians’ team isn’t part of the political circle. But Prowl has always been something in the between so the position he fills is similar to that of a royal advisor. They’ll probably put up an ad.” Skyfire says. “And gather a recruitment committee.”

“It’s much easier to sneak in an engineer to the ranks than a brand new senator.” Optimus concludes, turning to Megatron to hear what he has to say.

“OK,” the ex-warlord sighs, “You have a point. But how to make an expanding supercomputer do something worse than the massive poisoning crimes?”

“I, eh,” Skyfire shyly begins, “I wonder. Is it possible that the massive poisoning cases and the Core’s expansion are actually, connected?”

Both ex-leaders fall complete silent, they exchange a few looks in silence, both trying to digest the possibility.

“Who makes the final decision to recruit the new computer engineer?” Optimus asks.

“The current Head of Council.” Skyfire confirms.

“It’s Impactor, isn’t it?” Megtron knuckles his own forehead. “I’m actually very surprised that I’ve stayed on this planet this long and that piece of old metal aft isn’t coming to choke me himself.”

Now it’s Skyfire’s turn to exchange silent looks with Optimus.

“What?” Megatron asks, half annoyed, “What’s that look?”

“Should we tell him?” Skyfire quietly asks.

Optimus lets out another sigh. “There is a reason behind this election for the new Head of Council.”

“Impactor is dying.” He says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm think we are 65% into the plot progress now...it can definitely use more smut.  
> With half of the cast in non-sesualisable physical forms, only Megop is suitable for the job.


	29. Chapter 29

Rewind slowly comes back to his senses as the shuttle slows down to a complete halt. He remembers reaching for the surveillances room and saw the turbofox on the tape. He tried to chase it down, followed it all the way into one of the emergency shuttles when the door dropped behind him, knocking him unconscious.

The turbofox.

The minibot history archivist struggles to stand up, keeping his movement as quiet as possible. In front of him, the turbofox is working on the consoles using its tiny, declawed paws pressing buttons and typing in commands like he has been trained to. Do they teach genetically engineered turbofoxes to run shuttles in the lab? He thinks not. He’s also pretty sure Fort Max never had such bizarre training in mind for his newly found roommate, either.

He waits till the right timing and launches himself onto the cyberanimal, pinning it with his limbs and strangling it with his hands. Rewind is a tiny mech, but the beast is tinier.

“You are not a turbofox, are you?” He angrily announces, “You tricked us. That’s why you kept avoiding the old mechs like me. You know we’ll see it through.”

Overlord barks and writhes underneath the tiny body, unable to break free. He did not intend to take this minibot with him but the tiny thing is just so eager to bite on his bad luck. Yet removing him is also out of question in his current state, he tries to bite and scratch, but his declawed paws and teethless mouth pose no threat. He tries to kick him away but the minibot is determined to overpower him.

The door is suddenly smashed and reveals an enormous mech, painted in purple and wearing mask. Before Rewind has enough time to search for the mech’s identity in his database, he is lifted by the shoulder from the struggling turbofox beneath him and pinned to the wall. Tarn carefully examine him, as if trying to consider a certain possibility.

“Are you the informant?” He asks, “The traitor to your own ship who summoned us here?”

Rewind is terrified, both as he realises who this mech is and at what the question indicates. He turns to look at the turbofox on the floor in shock, which also leads Tarn’s to look in the same direction, meeting the small beast’s glowing optics on the way.

The turbofox backs down half a step. It’s also shaking at the sigh of Tarn but not with fear, at least not all of it. The excitement, the thrill, the regret, and the hatred, fill in every part of its existence. Those thick emotions are simply too unnatural for a cyberanimal to display and too add up to the mystery, its face looks hauntingly familiar to the DJD commander.

Realisation bathes Tarn with bright bliss.

“Overlord.” He lets out an abrupt laugh, genuinely amused. “It’s you. What a coincidence! We’ve wondered where you have been, Scorponok and I.”

He pauses then adds, “And of course, Bludgen.”

The turbofox backs down another step at the name. The ex-phase sixer is tempted to run, yet trapped in this small shuttle, there is no escape with Tarn already guarding the only exit with his massive form. He attempts to flinch away from the reaching servo, swiftly shifting to the nearest window, when he is smashed down head first on to the floor, heavy pede smearing his face with fresh spilled energon leaking from the crack between his ribs.

“Now, now,” Tarn whispers, “my traitor, it seems you’ve grown yourself a bad habit. All traitors do, one lone chance and they’ll be doing it again.”

Overlord tries to raise his head again under the agonisingly heavy unyielding weight but his efforts have ended up in vain. It seems he’s miscalculated the risk in his overly desperate state, too eager to get himself out of the disgustingly love-doped ship to rethink about other possibilities. It’s been a long time, and really comes as no surprise to him that Bludgen has eventually befriended the DJDs. He still has one last card to play.

He desperately tilts his head to the control panel of the shuttle, making his tiny movement visible to Tarn, a hologram of a galactic map floating above the screen.

“I see.” Tarn nods with generous fondness.

The turbofox’s offers still stand, perhaps not for a new frame now but negotiably in exchange for his survival. Giving the speed limit of the shuttle, the Lost Light must be near, but is also hurriedly preparing to jump to an unknown location as they speak, and only Overlord knows its exact location.

“As much as I want to continue with my unfinished work,” Tarn sighs, “Today I have a different job to do.”

The moment Tarn lifts his pede the turbofox wastes no time to writhes his way up, taking back as much pride he still keeps, growling like a fierce mutter stuck in his throat, he limps a step forward, and is then smelted down again by the sharp pain in his jaw, he falls to the ground, limbs trembling weak, his jaws impale by a dagger that pierce the floor. He cannot move, cannot even manage a pained whine without choking on his own energon.

The executioner simply turns his steps in another direction, the tiny minibot he casually tossed to the corner a few kliks earlier sits nervously still.

Overlord would have been valuable to the success of this mission. His cooperation would have been appreciated and given how well he behaves, maybe they wouldn’t even mind giving him the blank frame Bludgen promised. Yet, that is, if Overlord has managed to come alone.

“I hear,” Tarn kneels before Rewind and purrs, “that your kind likes to keep very detailed record of everything you witness and experience, all the time.”

With his nightmarish voice he sings, “ _I’d like to hear it from you instead._ ”

A sharp scream forces itself out of his vocaliser, wrecking the equipment with vigorous enthusiasm. Rewind’s camera pops on and starts streaming his visual data with unusual speed, which the leader of the DJD watches with great interest and keeps pushing him for more and more to come out.

The minibot’s torment is put to an abrupt end when a heavy, massive form suddenly dashes into the room, crashing the screen window on his thrusters and shooting Tarn right in the chest.

“Rewind.” Fortress Maximus hurries to the archivist and lifts him onto his chest, the tiny archivist can do nothing but spitting statics. He then proceeds to the remove the dagger impaling the bleeding turbofox.

“Overlord.” The ex-warden is too worried to feel concerned about vocalising that morbid name, giving any different circumstances, it would have sent shivers down his spines but now, two lives are on the line.

Before Tarn can gather another attack, he pulls the hidden airlock beneath the holographic map and the strong airflow created by the release of the compressed air flushes him right to the exist.

“The one thing that is even better than a Decepticon traitor is an Autobot traitor.” Tarn warns as he holds onto what’s left of the door to stabilize himself, “I thought you were being deceived by that treacherous abomination but it looks like you do have some idea after all. Do you really think you can outrun the Peaceful Tyranny? This shuttle is battered and you’re not even a jet.”

“Maybe I won’t, but the Lost Light will.” Fortress Maximus grabs Overlord in his arms and lands a clean shot on the tangling door frame, tearing Tarn’s fingers from it, sending him floating into the empty space outside, to the arms of his fellow killers.

Fortress Maximus then smashes the glass box and pulls the emergency lever.

“Thunderclash.” He grabs the mic, “Get the ship fully prepared for the quantum jump and put your finger above that button! I say ‘now’, no matter what you see, what you hear, you do it!”

“Because it’s the DJD that’s after us.”

“You sent the DJD after MY ship?!” Rodimus jumps at the statement as if the world just has announced an end.

Soundwave stands ever so still, so subtle, yet unyielding as ever.

“I sent Tarn after Overlord.” He corrects.

“I don’t see the fragging difference! You said it yourself, Overlord is on MY ship!”

“Overlord would agree to meet elsewhere other than the Lost Light itself, otherwise he’s giving out free information and run out of cards to bargain before the game begins.” Soundwave quietly argues, “Would you rather Overlord stayed on board?”

“Of course not!” Rodimus bounce and pace around like a rat on sugar high, “But what do you think will happen next? Once Tarn get to Overlord and what? What’s the chance of Overlord inviting the DJD to the Lost Light for a good old tea party?”

“You don’t know Tarn.” Soundwave argues on, “His obsession will not allow him to accept Overlord’s surrender so easily. It buys you time, especially since now he’s gone rogue with no teammate to watch out for him. There’s a chance you’ll get rid of them both during the process.”

“High chances are they’ll both end up going for the ship!” Rodimus snaps.

“Bludgen is sending killer squads after the ship nonetheless.”

“So you fragging stop them!” Rodimus shots back furiously, “You don’t add one super soldier psychopath to the fragging collection, let alone two!”

“Your safety is my priority.”

“Go prioritising something else, pinhead!” Rodimus points a finger at the telepath, “What’s so important about me now? What is so important in protecting me, keeping me alive, or rescuing me now? I’m a distraction, a false reward, the fermented, colorant-heavy cherry on top of the giant wedding cake that looks fantastic but no one really likes to eat, everyone thinks I have the information while I absolutely don’t! And now since the fragging ship I DISTRACT our enemies from is arriving in no time, what’s the point of prioritising my fragging survival!”

“Because I met you.” Soundwave points out. “I found you.”

“Soundwave, just because all your cassettes are dead doesn’t add me to your new collection!” Rodimus snaps.

The telepath falls silent, his face becomes blank, even more so compared his usual state of poker face.

“I told you you don’t get to talk about them like that.” He warns, but there’s a silent tremble in his voice.

“Oh, but I will.” Rodimus doesn’t quite back down. “Because you know what, you don’t get to talk about MY ship like they are some calculated odds that you casually run through your invisible, metaphorical, telepathic supercomputer fingers, either but you did, you do, you’re doing it right now, right in front of my face, while my soldiers, my friends, my family, are under attack because of you!”

“You’re wrong.” Soundwave simply nods, yet the trembler in his voice only gets heavier, slightly, yet noticeable if you try.

“Humour me.”

“Because they ARE calculated odds. Your ship and your people.” Soundwave continues, suddenly speaking fast, “Just like my cassettes were. And just because you respect, adore, and admire someone, doesn’t make them less expendable to the world.”

“Calculated odds.” Rodimus laughs bitterly as he repeats the worlds, “You really ARE a computer. Maybe you are suitable for this job after all! Maybe you should never be let out, cause you’re so good, so perfect, with your brilliant job down here! Maybe despite whatever the horrors and griefs you told me about, you signed up for this yourself!”

Silence sprawls between them like a deadly disease. For once, the ever beautiful, ever peaceful guest room of the Nemesis is dimming. The welcoming vibrations of the floor that resembled that of a running engine down the decks humbly halts. The bright, foggy, brilliant clouds that queue up for a never-ending row in the sky outside are no longer moving. It’s quiet. Too quiet.

Soundwave isn’t moving. He isn’t talking either. His unnaturally still frame reminds Rodimus of something he mentioned before, that he isn’t really here. The projection of his old frame may appear real to Rodimus, but his real body is the size of the entire city now, with this cosy room they stay in as a melting snowflake that’s attached within the internals of a massive giant. And now, the projection he uses is fading like a battered alternative reality, while this particular snowflake is melting.

Rodimus close his eyes. He’s ready for a strike. He’s ready to take the strike too. This seems like the only thing he’s good for these days, provoking and taking strikes.

But then, it never came. Instead, the pleasant mumbling noise flips back online. The Nemesis is running again, and the eternal daylight shines upon him. Time is flowing in peace, as it does in reality.

He turns around to look for Soundwave, but he’s no longer here.

“Soundwave.” He tries.

No one answered.

“By the way where did you get that gun?” Says Optimus as they pace down the hallway to the elevator that will lead them to the fifth floor where Impactor’s room is.

“What gun?” Megatron lies.

“Don’t play dumb.” Optimus sighs, “You threatened Makeshift with a gun back in his flat. The border control made sure you imported no weapon when you arrived at the airport.”

“Oh you mean that one.” A hint of sarcasm in Megatron’s voice, “Don’t you find that gun familiar?”

“Yes, and that’s why I’m asking.” Optimus rolls his optics, “It looked like you holding yourself in your hand. Like you in your root-mode holding your alt-mode self. That was weird.”

“Because that’s exactly what it is. A hologram projection of myself.” Megatron explains, “One of the few technologies that Cybertron agreed to sell to the organics. You can buy a hologram projector in every mechanical market. On some planets such as Nebuleon it requires a certain licence to program a customised projection but on Silmonia you are free to do as you please. My gun mode is small and I always wonder if I’m a good shot.”

“Silmonia? That slime planet? I thought you said not to bring it up. You just broke your own rule.”

“Yeah, I did. What I’ve been told ever since my arrival on the New Cybertron makes me rethink about my” Megatron suddenly cuts himself off, “Nontheless, the gun doesn’t really fire so it doesn’t count as a weapon.”

Optimus pretends he paid no mind to his sudden change of subject and calmly plays along. “Either way, it would be classified as imitation-firearms, which restrictions also apply to.”

“Well, in that case,” Megatron sighs, “I’ll just argue it’s a projection of myself so should go into the holographic self-portrait category. That would do.”

“Mechs like you are the nightmare of mechs like Ultra Magnus.” Optimus comments.

“I doubt that. I have the feeling he might actually like me.” Megatron says, “Where is he by the way?”

“Who do you think run the madness called the Iacon Prison.” Optimus shakes his helm. “It’s unsanitary for any brain module.”

“This planet is unsanitary for any brain module.” Megatron murmurs as looks for the door. He expects Impactor’s ward to be guarded by enforcers, but it simply looks like your average room. With Ratchet’s old key card, they can get away with pretty much accessing anything. But Optimus insists they sign up at the reception.

“He takes visitors.” The Prime says, “I checked.”

“Then why didn’t you go visiting him yourself?” Megatron asks.

Optimus says nothing, he points to the door. “There you go.” And this time, Megatron simply does as he’s told.

Impactor was writing something on a datapad when Megatron enters the room.

“You didn’t knock.” The voice of his oldest friend is salty and hoarse.

“I didn’t intend to.” Megatron pulls the chair behind the door and sits next to the berth.

“You can get yourself killed.” Impactor points out matter-of-factly.

Megatron gives no answer to that statement. He examines Impactor carefully, doesn’t know what he expected. Impactor looks old, not in a disease affected way but properly old. And a bit extra old perhaps due to his extraordinarily long service in the Council. He looks as stubborn as he remembers, but the hand he is holding that pen with, is shaking.

Impactor doesn’t seem to be bothered by it, as if he’s very familiar with the tremors now. It is supposed to happen.

“Sign of stage three cybercrosis.” Megatron murmurs.

“Who died and made you the medic?” Impactor mutters.

“Surprisingly, no one.” Megatron huffs, “I passed the exams myself.”

“Oh as I’ve heard, some Electon mech passed the medic exams.” Impactor comments, “And excuse me since I’m such an old fellow, I could be wrong, but I think you’re some Megatron guy I know back in some mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Optimus the emotional support truck.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one.

“Oh as I’ve heard, some Electon mech passed the medic exams.” Impactor comments, “And excuse me since I’m such an old fellow, I could be wrong, but I think you’re some Megatron guy I know back in some mine.”

“Must a very filthy mine to harbour your abominable youth.” Megatron says as he searches for anything useful from the pile of datapads placed on the nightstand.

“You don’t say.” Impactor looks at his searching hand sceptically but does not interfere, “You keep doing that you might get yourself killed.” He repeats.

“Yeah I figured. Since Optimus insisted that I sign up at the reception.” Megatron huffs, “You have a line of snipers on this window, don’t you?” He points to the window next to the berth. “And probably, next door too.”

“Not my arrangement.” Impactor barks, “I asked for a quiet, peaceful, and _lonely_ death experience and all they give me is this damn sitcom.”

“They care for you.” Says Megatron as he peels the wrap of the candy he found on the nightstand, under layers of datapads. He throws it into his mouth and frowns. “Acid flavour. Who gave you this? Some newly forged hyperactive jet sparkling who hasn’t developed enough sensors on their tongues?”

“Skywarp.” Impactor sighs.

“Why I’m not surprised.” Megatron comments. “Is he here? Behind one of these four walls? Listening? Ready to teleport in anytime so much as I slip a finger?”

“You give him too much credit.” Impactor huffs, “Who are you? Megatron I presume. And I was told if you still have one seeker, one seeker that is loyal to you then it’s Skywarp. He adores you and he’s scared of you.”

“Said Starscream?”

“Said himself.” Impactor says, “What do you think we talk about here when he’s on shift? It’s not like we have some common hobby _._ ”

“I’ve been called many things in my life, but hobby isn’t one of them.”

“I never thought one day I’ll be known as Senator Impactor either, the title is almost as funny as Electon the medic.” His old friend notes, “But guess what, I also never thought one day I’d die from cybercrosis of all things. Old mechs like you and me all assumed an honourable death in the battlefield is inevitable, but in the end death is indeed inevitable, but honour isn’t.”

Megatron falls silent for a kilk.

“You shouldn’t be reading these.” He eventually comments, pointing the pile of datapads he just casually read through. “Unless you want to become the first Cybertronian who die from _accounting_.”

But Impactor doesn’t seem to mind. He points to the same pile of datapads Megatron just ravaged through.

“Most of them are reports about energon deals. People expressing their concerns, dealers panicking about making ends meet, and buyers politely sending their inquiries, all filed after that particular talk you gave on that TV show.”

“That talk I gave wasn’t for show.” Megatron says.

“No one says it is.” Impactor tilts his helm, “Otherwise these people won’t be panicking.”

“Yet no one takes me serious either.” Megatron says. “The refinery factory isn’t called off. None of the deals was called back either.”

“You want a fast reaction, abrupt changes that based on no real evidence.” Impactor points out, “Yet people need energon every day. Analysis data cannot tell the difference, a suspected pollution without validated identification, so even if it is polluted, it must be minor enough to give the same result. Pollution never stopped us back when we were young.”

“Good point. You got me here.” Megatron sighs. “So what do I need to do to get some damn attention? Kill another round of senators?”

Impactor laughs so hard it almost knocked one of the datapads off the nightstand.

“Do it after my funeral and call it avenging.” Impactor suggests. “I’ll send my blessings from the Allspark.”

“Funny.” Comments Megatron, he tries to find a punchline to finish the sentence, but fails. The acid candy is melting on his tongue, allowing the unpleasant taste to slowly leak into his core like an internal bleed, reminding Megatron how hard to find his tongue despite the burning sensation.

Eventually he managed to say. “You really are dying, are you?”

“Why are you asking me this?” Impactor frowns, “Did you come to my room and expect to find otherwise? That the whole thing is some kind of hoax I designed to coax, to find the bad guy behind the plots, to invite someone into a trap, line up for the killing?” His voice suddenly too patient, like he’s talking to a kid. Like back in the days when they were both so impossibly young and their insignificant age made Impactor look like the senior one in Megatron’s eyes, even if he’s in fact, maybe only a few decacycles ahead.

“Well,” Megatron pauses, “yes.” He admits. Then he adds, “It appears I’m wrong.”

“That doesn’t happen too often, does it?” Impactor grins.

Impactor stares at him with that wide grin on his face for a moment too long. It almost feels like the old days, when he sat by the death berth of Terminus and waited for Primus’ call.

Megatron falls silent again.

Nautica rushes his way into the bridge, Thunderclash is already standing in front of the control panel.

“Done.” The engine specialist confirms. “Quantum engines are now stabilised.”

Thunderclash doesn’t look slightly relieved.

“How bad is it?” She asks.

“Their shuttle is damaged.” Thunderclash states, “Peaceful Tyranny is after us.”

“Then we fight.” Cyclonus suggests.

“It’s not just the DJD.” Blaster reports, “Radar shows we have at least a hundred mechs within the scan range.”

“Please,” Chromedome begs, “don’t leave them behind.”

“No one is leaving anyone behind.” Thunderclash assures him, “What about other shuttles?”

“Won’t stand a chance against their battleship.” Perceptor explains.

“How about my Vis Vitalis?”

“It can’t fly now.” Nautica says, “Half of its engine is used to stabilize the Lost Light.”

“Lost Light is equipped with equivalent firepower.” Cyclonus points out. “Or better.”

“Turn the Lost Light in their direction,” Thunderclash concludes, “Max will outrun their ship.”

“On it!” Sunstreaker confirms before he runs off with Riptide.

“They’re not fast enough.” Blaster points to flashing dot on the screen. “The shuttle is slowing down.”

Perceptor grabs his mic.

“Fortress Maximus? Can you hear me? You need to speed up the shuttle.”

“Already on it.” Say Fortress Maximus as he cut through an array of cables, “I released the compressed coolant vapour in the circulating pump for an instant speed boost. It’s now wearing off. I’m manually short circuiting the thermometer loops to stop the overheat warnings from completely shutting down the engine. It’s getting really hot in here.”

“Deploy the unnecessary parts.” Perceptor demands, “Do as I say and in the right order.”

“They’re not gonna make it.” Brainstorm quietly whispers. “We need a Plan B.”

“Gather the security force.” Thunderclash demands, “Open the shuttle bay for them to crash in. Standby and wait for the order to _defend_.”

“Brainstorm,” he turns to the jet, “Go get the ranged weapons in your collection and send them to the security guards. We want the best aim.”

Brainstorm looks mildly flattered and doesn’t need to be told twice.

“Misfire, Cyclonus.” He then turns for the two fliers, “I need you to get ready to retrieve Fort Max and Rewind. You’re the fastest flyers on board. Whirl, Blades, cover him.”

“Ambulon, Spinister, go prepare the medbay.” Thunderclash proceed to give his orders. “Blaster, send a distress signal to Cybertron, use my signature, pass this ship as Vis Vitalis.”

“On it.” Blaster confirms.

Before Cyclonus can leave Tailgate quickly grabs his hand.

“Permission to join the security force in the shuttle bay. My superpower can be helpful!” The minibot declares.

“Permission granted.” Thunderclash agrees.

The minibot squeezes Cyclonus’ hands. “I’ll be at the shuttle bay. If they come on board, or if they hurt you, I’ll smash them to pieces.”

The red seeker however, is hesitant to follow his ex-colleague. He nervously salutes. “Aye captain. Happy to serve. But are you sure I’m the right person to…”

“You are a seeker, aren’t you?” Thunderclash frowns, “I’m aware seekers are usually the fastest fliers in the Decepticon Air Force. Speed is exactly what we need right now.”

“But…haven’t you heard my name…”

Fulcrum squeezes his hand from behind. “Don’t underestimate yourself. I’ll be waiting for you at the shuttle bay, too.”

Misfire nods anxiously.

“Alright looks like now the shuttle is speeding up again.” Blaster cheers. “They’re outrunning the battleship.”

“They won’t hold much longer.” Perceptor emphasizes, “After following my instruction, the shuttle is reduced to a fuming hardboard attached to an engine chamber and a thruster. Without proper support the engine will overheat even faster. Outer shell is already gone. Disintegration will soon follow.”

Fortress Maximus voice comes from the mic, the tank is barely keeping his voice steady. “I assume you mean disintegration of myself will soon follow the shuttle’s disintegration, since most of it is already gone.”

“Correct.”

“Not helping.” Fort Max murmurs, he glances back to the battleship not far behind, “At least they are not shooting. They know I’m leading my way to you.”

“I know it must be agonising.”, Thunderclash assures. “But hold tight. Help is on his way.”

“On it.” Max confirms, he glances down at the two unconscious tiny forms in his arm, “You hear that? You’ll be fine.”

His frame already starts melting into the floor they’re holding to. His other hand clinging to the lever is now half forged into its semi-liquified shape. He lifts the two tiny ones even higher, to keep them further from his overheating chassis.

“Not sure if I’m gonna make it though.” He sighs.

Megatron feels his mouth run impossibly dry in the silence. The acid taste on his glossa is now gone, leaving behind a burning sensation too bitter to go ignored.

“How secured is this place.” He tries to demand.

“Physically? Not much.” Impactor states, “Soundproof? Very.”

“So you are casually baiting someone to your death berth just to see who wants you dead quicker than it already is. But you don’t want anyone to hear your last words?”

“Precisely.” Impactor sighs, “Do you have to put it like that? Sounds pretty stupid when you put it like that.”

“You are pretty stupid.” Megatron says, “You should have resigned. Should have retired. I heard you stayed in that position for almost as long as this council exists.”

“When they came to me with the proposal, I thought, can’t be harder than keeping a bunch of restless carefree trigger-happy wreckers in line, huh? Guess what, I wasn’t too wrong myself. Just didn’t expect this to last this long.” Impactor says, “Now how about you cut the slag and tell me the reason you’re here, so I can tell you mine.”

“What makes you think I’m here to talk about anything? Why does everyone keep assuming I meet them because I need something from them?” Megatron snaps, a dying mech is the most unreasonable type of rival, not to mention Impactor feared no one to begin with, “Optimus, Starscream, Deathsaurus, now you? Can’t I just come in to check up on you? We were friends.”

“You spent four million years trying to kill me. Then you were missing for 700 vorns straight. That’s hell of a cold shoulder.”

“As required by the Treaty!”

“The Treaty didn’t ask you to leave.” Impactor points out, “If anything, it asked you to stay. It even prepared a position for you. Lord high protector! It eventually kept the ‘Lord’ bit which we all know you really like.”

“We are not having this conversation.” Megatron shakes his helm in disbelief, “You of all people should be grateful that I left. It’s almost like people believe I should be ashamed for having left this planet for good. You can’t honestly tell me it was better that I stayed.”

“I’m not telling you anything.” Impactor barks. “You don’t need anyone’s help to be a dick shaped gun.”

“I kept my end of the deal, didn’t I!” Megatron points out furiously, “Do you think leaving Cybertron is easier than staying? Do you know how many people out there want me dead? Do you think it’s easy to dodge all of them without breaching the Treaty? The Treaty that forbid me to fight as well as forbid me to die. On top of everything I had to let the Council keep track of me, where to find me when they want to, while mechs like Prowl use the information I willingly surrender to send loads and loads of assassins.” He pauses, “And frag it! I’m not even allowed to kill anyone of them, including Overlord! Do you think I really want to live all these vorns out there!”

“I didn’t,” he tries, a little breathless, “I didn’t even want to come back here. I have a life now. And even that life is gone, ruined, when I joined this one fine mess of election.”

When he stops talking he finally realises he’s probably let out too much information than he intended to. He does not want to raise his helm to look Impactor in his eyes, he does not want to see the disappointment on his face, doesn’t want to be told he didn’t deserve the life to begin with, so he changes the topic.

“But if you insist,” he adds, “There is something Optimus would like to ask from you. Not me.”

He hears Impactor’s voice from the direction of the berth. “What does Optimus need?” He asks.

“Recently he’s interested in the controversial side of the Project Core, regarding the original proposers, major participator and device inventors involved in its recent evolution milestones.” Megatron explains.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Impactor thoughtfully agrees. “And let him know he can acquire the information he needs from my secretary. Though I’m bit surprised he’s not here to convey the interest himself.”

“He’s busy.” Megatron lies. ““And he would also like to warn you the next chief engineer may be a mole.”

“Now that’s the interesting part.” Impactor thoughtfully pauses, “What makes you, I mean Optimus, think Red Alert is someone’s mole?”

“Holy Primus!” Was all Misfire could manage when he finds the shuttle following Cyclonus guidance. “Are you sure they won’t shoot us down? Look at that ship, it puts _Peaceful Tyranny_ to shame!”

“Not for now.” says Cyclonus as he approaches what’s left of the shuttle, “They need us to stay alive to lead them to the Lost Light.”

:If they fire we have your back!: Blades comms.

:You can cover that red aft all you like but I get this purple one: Whirl giggles through the comm.

“Thanks, that really lightens my heart.” Misfire deploys a hook to the tank, “Grab it, big boy! Hop on the ride!”

“Can’t.” Says Fort Max as he lifts the unconscious Rewind to the jet, “They are unconscious, we need to tie them to your frame.”

“What about you?”

“Forget about me. I’m too heavy for the ride, I’ll slow you down.” Fort Max ties Rewind to the seeker, “Besides, my frame is now fused with the floor.”

“Not on my watch.” Cyclonus transforms and lands on the unbalanced, exposed shuttle bridge, “Hold tight.” He pulls out his sword and shreds the melting floor under their pedes.

:Guys, I think they’re charging their cannons!:Whirl announces.

The seeker deploys another hook, “Quick, the dog!”

A blast to the shuttle’s engine leads to an explosion too quick for Fort Max to act. In his panic, he kicks Misfire flying and shields the turbofox with his body. Cyclonus acted in time just to grab the tank before he transforms and take off immediately.

:Aim for the ammo charger: Whirl commands.

:Of course.: Blades laughs.

“Sorry for slowing you down.” The tank apologises as the two helicopters busts the ammo charger behind them. “Should have taken more cautions when I left the deck.”

“Never apologise for trying to save someone.” Cyclonus says.

Obviously busting one blaster does not stop a battleship from opening fire, the two helicopters quickly retreat to their comrades when they saw the ship fully unlock its weapon panel.

“What happened to the ‘they won’t fire until they find the Lost Light’?” Misfire is mostly terrified.

“It’s bad news.” Fort Max murmurs, “It means they found the Lost Light. Our ship is near, it’s already showing up on their radar.”

“That actually sounds like good news to me.” Whirl says.

“I told you not to turn the ship in this direction!” Fort Max barks.

“Too late for that argument.” Misfire announces, “I’m seeing our ship.”

“Go ahead.” Cyclonus says.

Being the fastest flyer, Misfire manages to make it to the shuttle bay first, he didn’t even bother to transform, dumping the minibot into the arms of his lover along with the tangling ropes, then immediately takes off to join the other fliers. Chromedome rushes to catch Rewind and unhook the minibot from the hook. The minibot is hanging between the world of the living and oblivion, he desperately grabs onto the arm of his lover.

“Chromedome.” He whispers.

“Shush.” The mnemosurgent tries to coax him back to sleep, “You need to rest.”

“No, no.” The minibot whispers, “Over…lord….”

“Overlord will be fine.” Chromedome assures. “We’ll bring him back in no time.”

“….No.” He whispers weakly, still unable to find his voice, all he can manage is a weak “no”. He tries to reach for Misfire, but the red seeker has already turned his back on him.

Carrying the weight of Fortress Maximus and Overlord, Cyclonus is significantly slowed down, struggling not to fall behind from the two helicopters as they cover his back, viciously trying to shoot off all the missiles targeting them. The situation is soon elevated into a complete crossfire when both ships move into each other’s range. Cyclonus took a bullet into his wing and cripples to his wounded side, dropping both Fort Max and Overlord off his back, only to be rescued by Misfire. The seeker sighs in relief but soon loses his cool when he realises the _Peaceful Tyranny_ has been deployed from the battleship.

“Hell of a time to put myself on the List.” The seeker quickly flees in between the flying gun shells, trying to reach the shuttle bay he just left from with. “Tell Fulcrum he can have my kibbles if I die.”

“What’s with you Scavengers and your kibble kinks.” Fort Max takes out his gun from his subspace. “Fly parallel to the trajectory, it reduces you chances of getting shot.”

“Don’t kink shaming me and don’t tell me how to fly!” Misfire shouts out to him. “And it’s pronounced SCAVENGERS!”

As the Lost Light unleash its firepower upon its rival, the battleship after them quickly begins to deploy dozens of smaller, piloted warships.

“They want to come on board.” Thunderclash concludes, “They are looking for something.”

“Or someone.” Fort Max whispers as he shoots down the missiles on the way to their aft. He realises unlike all other ships deployed from the battleship, the _Peaceful Tyranny_ is specifically coming in their direction and getting closer as they speak. “Thunderclash, is the quantum engine ready?”

“Affirmative.” The Autobot captain confirms. “Ready to go once you all get inside.”

“Blaster, put me through to the crew.” Fort Max demands.

“Done.” Blaster confirms.

“Whirl, Blades, Cyclonus, return to the shuttle bay immediately.” Fort Max instructs.

“Security team, close and secure all entrances.”

“Brainstorm, Nautica, coordinate the ship to Cybertron’s orbit.”

“All weapon operators, deactivate all the blasters, launch the guided missiles all at once, target the piloted warships scattered around us instead of the main ship, then ceasefire immediately and reconstruct the shell. Brainstorm, averagely how long does it take for a guided missile to get to the target?”

“43 kliks, giving our distance and speed.” Brainstorm answers, “It either hits the target or be intercepted on the way.”

“In 43 Kliks,” Fort Max proclaims, “perform the quantum jump and take the ship right into Cybertron’s orbit, make it close to Luna 2. We will show up unarmed, our weapon panels locked, and our engine cooled. If they follow, let them trigger and stand against Cybertron’s air defence system.”

“Blaster,” Finally, he instructs, “Help Captain Thunderclash establish communications with the ground once you are in the orbit. If things go wrong, land on Luna 2 instead.”

“Wait, what do you mean by ‘you’?” Thunderclash demands. “Do you not plan on making it back yourself? If that is the case, as the current captain of the ship, I refuse to leave anyone behind. The quantum jump will be delayed until you and Misfire return.”

“Sorry, Thunders” Fort Max apologises, “I didn’t have enough time to hand you everything since our agreement, up till now I can still remotely activate the command sequences.”

On the bridge, Thunderclash grabs the nearest technician as fast as he can. “Disable it!”

Perceptor exhales heavily, “A system rewrite takes at least a day. There is not enough time left.”

“Fortress Maximus, you promised me!” Thunderclash barks.

“Sorry,” Fort Max apologises again, “Guess I’m a disappointment after all.”

Then he turns off the line.

After a rare moment of silence, Misfire opens his vocaliser.

“Are you asking me to die with you today?”

The tank lets out a short laugh, “What if I am?”

“Well,” the seeker sighs, “I’m a big fan of survival, but I’m definitely not the first Scavenger who dive head first into the Afterspark to keep the DJD at bay.”

They won’t make it, the DJD’s ship is already locked on them, and they cannot outrun the _Peaceful Tyranny_. It’s either leading Tarn himself right into the shuttle bay, or die stopping the ship before it crashes into the _Lost Light_.

“Don’t worry.” Fort Max smiles softly, he gently pets the turbofox in his sleep, hoping he won’t mind it since it probably would be the last time, too. “I’m not asking that of you.”

The gentle fingers combing through his spiked fur wakes him up, trying his best to online his optics, only to realise he’s now spread out in the middle of a spaceship battlefield. The moment he comes online he’s suddenly smashed into the cockpit of a seeker right before the seeker is kicked hard in the stabilisers and crashes head first into the gravity field of the _Lost Light_ , falling down uncontrollably toward one of the deactivated blasters at full speed. Right above their head, Tarn launches himself on Fortress Maximus but isn’t in time to catch them. The two tanks start fighting a ruthless fistfight mid-air.

No.

_No._

Overlord jerks awake. He can’t return to the _Lost Light_. The data archivist already knows his identity!

Half of the guided missiles have reached their destinations. They line up to crack into a series of blinding fireworks, taking down ships and lives with their destruction. Behind Tarn and Fortress Maximus, _Peaceful Tyranny_ is hit in the left wing and the explosion almost knock them over.

Tarn catches the fist of Fort Max.

“You are wasting your life.” He states, “You are defending a traitor. Traitors, that’s what your ship is. What is the honour in defending a ship of traitors who have long abandoned their own honour.”

“I’m not sure who are you referring to.” Fort Max laughs, “But I’m fully aware there is a thin line between betrayal and survival. But you know what?”

He grabs Tarn by the other arm and holds him tight, making him stay in position. The tangled pair turn around in Tarn’s struggle and it is revealed to Tarn that Misfire has taken hold of a blaster on the _Lost Light_ , aiming in their direction. The ship’s shape is now quivering, signs of an activated quantum engine.

“But I have learnt to forgive.” The tank whispers.

Misfire activates the blaster, the shot lands right into Tarn’s chest, scattered parts and spilt energon fill his sight. It was a clean shot. And almost at the same time, the turbofox makes a jump from the ship into the space. It caught the seeker completely by surprise and failed to stop him. The ship violently shakes, teleporting itself into Cybertron’s orbit, tearing up the space around it. He falls into the ship through a broken window, crashing into its corridor, fortunately Fulcrum is there to catch him.

“Hey,” the K-con rubs his face to make him focus, “Look at me. You’re here. We are safe. We’re heading to Cybertron.”

“I didn’t miss.” Misfire grabs his hand, holding it tight, “I didn’t miss this time but I wish I did!”

Once the ship disappeared, the turbofox barely made it to the edge of the space which the ship’s teleportation tore through, his tiny frame being torn apart by the energy generated by the quantum engine. With a death so near, a broken hand reaches for him. Fortress Maximus wraps him up in his bruised arms, presses him to his shattered chassis.

“Shush.” He whispers.

All the furious barks, the enraged growls in his throat are muffled, abruptly silenced by the soft whisper that barely made any audible sound with the deafening explosions in the background. Realisation comes to him like a hit of a rock. They’ll probably die here, together, today. He’ll have to die as a powerless, defenceless _animal_. Of all the ways to die and all the mechs to die with. This.

The turbofox finally stops caring, he presses his helm into the touch.

The quantum foam swallows them in one sip and everything fades to black.

“Red Alert?” Megatron repeats, “That Red Alert?”

“Yes, that Red Alert.” Impactor confirms.

“The Red Alert whose coding gets doomingly ruptured whenever he sees codes?”

“That’s one way to put it.” Impactor sighs, “But he did get better through the years and becomes more specialised in coding rather than decoding. Do you really think he’s a sleeper agent?”

“What? No! It’s Optimus.” Megatron embarrassedly announces, “Unless maybe the mech is brainwashed, telepathically controlled, out of his mind. Or maybe that is exactly why he’s always losing his mind or on the way to it.”

“Interesting theory.” Impactor exhales, “but without evidence to back it up.”

“You don’t have enough evidence to tell someone actually wants you dead either yet here you are.”

“Actually I do.” Impactor huffs, “Thanks to Noisemaze.”

Noisemaze, another topic Megatron doesn’t want to talk about. He pinches his nose bridge in frustration.

“Just, don’t approve his candidature.” he persuades, “Don’t approve it just yet. Give us a bit more time to find out the truth. This might be big, bigger than you think.”

To his surprise, Impactor reaches out to cup his hand, he tries to pet his palm but fails to lift his wrist.

“Indeed.” He says, “It is.”

He leans forward, “Go on digging, Megatron, we are miners after all. And welcome back to Cybertron. I believe no one has yet to say this to you. I’m glad you made your way back.”

Their moment is disrupted by Skywarp’s sudden appearance. The teleporter is clearly out of his breath, but not surprised to see Megatron here.

“Senator Impactor!” He says, “It’s all over the news! A station ship has arrived in Cybertron’s orbit. They claim to be a long-lost Autobot ship named the _Lost Light_ , and Thunderclash claims to be its captain! They demand the permission to land!”

“Send the inspectors.” Impactor barks, “Don’t you see I’m busy dying right here?”

“You don’t understand! The ship has already entered the landing track, the harbour is cleared for their arrival!”

“How come? Did the inspectors give the all-clear already?”

“No!” Skywarp panics, “That is the problem! No one is giving any order. No one had the time to react yet. But the permission to enter issued itself, the defence system won’t even activate, and the harbour’s landing schedule automatically rearranged to fit them in! It’s almost like…”

“Almost like the Core has its own mind.” Megatron mutters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this house, we stan for the Misfire.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this really late update. Hope you guys all having a good holiday.  
> Long story short, a series of unfortunate events starting from Covid-19 traffic control ending with my PhD thesis R&R has led to my arrival in...Melbourn. Long time fan, first time in town.  
> It's bizarre as hell. I know there's a logical reason for me to come here but nothing makes sense anymore.

“We are running out of time.” Optimus says as they marched down the hallway. “The Lost Light has arrived, they may give up on Rodimus or use him to blackmail his crew. We need to find his location as fast as we can.”

“Or it could be our best chance to locate him. If his kidnappers panic over the arrival of his ship, they will leave clues behind them.” Megatron points out, “I’ll find Swindle tonight. He knows where to find the dealers on the name list. You need to get in touch with Thunderclash, I don’t believe he would like to hear from me.”

“No.” Optimus says, he hands the datapads to Megatron, “We don’t get in touch with the Lost Light as for now. If we reach out to them, trying to get around the senators, it would become obvious that we’re looking for Rodimus.”

“What about the Matrix?”

“Thunderclash has been an explorer ever since the war ended. Despite our salty relationship with the Galactic Council, he was given the permit by the organic species to freely access all spacebridges in their transportation network. He shows up on Cybertron on demand and also audited in Prowl’s trial. He isn’t originally a resident of DK-27, I think he is another ‘Flip-Flare’ avatar that Rodimus hired.”

“Which means?”

“Which means unlike Rodimus and Drift, he is fully aware of what’s going on on Cybertron. He will not expose the location of the Matrix, or reveal the story of DK-27 to anyone he can’t trust.” Optimus continues, “He’s probably the newest addition to the crew, and serves his purpose to bid for the acceptance of New Cybertron. He fills the position of Rodimus himself, so he won’t tell anyone why Rodimus went missing, knowing that would put Rodimus in danger, but he definitely will try to look for him.”

“You mean he will soon reach to us.” Megatron comments.

“In due time.” Optimus agrees, “And to our enemies, since they couldn’t get information from Rodimus, then the Lost Light will look like the second best chance. It would appear to them the Matrix must be hidden on board the ship. If one of the senators is too keen on getting in touch with them, it might be our guy.”

Dizziness tingles Megatron in the stomach, this is the Optimus he’s familiar with, guileful, calm, fast to react and place people’s life before success. But after spending decacycles with the passive aggressive version of him, fate shedding light on the return of his old self makes him feel uneasy.

“So, what do we do next?” He plainly asks for his advice.

“We split up. I’ll go find Rodimus.” Optimus points a finger at the datapads he just pushed into his arms, “You go back to the bunker, keep reading these, see if you can find out about what happened to Soundwave, and wait for incoming calls. When Thunderclash comes knocking, he’ll need convincing that we are on his side.”

“You know where to find Swindle?” Megatron raises an optic.

“Let’s say he and I have a mutual friend.”

“Fair enough.” Megatron sighs. “Call me if you need back up, or someone to bait you out.”

It’s the first time Optimus act alone. Megatron spent the whole afternoon trying not to think too much about his sudden show of independence. He paces around in the hidden quarters Ratchet left them with in between binge reading too many datapads. The history of the Project Core is a mess, each progress, each proposal that led to a leap in the machine’s evolution, involves dozens of senators and hundreds of citizens. He tries to narrow it down to the events that have the shortest list of participators, and to at least find the people who originally came up the ideas, yet they always have to come from a group of people, a community, or a faction. The computer system mergence that Optimus has been so interested in, though is brought into action by the non-affiliated politician Senator Vedette, was actually a long-abandoned plan got dramatically revived, whose original proposer is already long lost to the world.

Skyfire notices his unusual impatience today.

“Did something happen?” The shuttle asks. He’s recently trying to occupy himself with weaving. Since his offspring has finally grown into a proper sparkling and Megatron has managed to identify the sparkling as a shuttle, the shuttle carrier begins to worry about size for everything he prepared so far, hence the ever-adding length of the blanket he’s working on.

“Not anything you need to worry about.” Megatron waves him off.

To his surprise, Skyfire comments. “You sound like Star.” Melancholily, then he adds, “Or maybe he takes from you.”

Megatron shakes his helm in disbelief, trying his best not to roll his optics. A carrying mech is entitled to experience mood swings, and Skyfire is easy-going enough even in his current state. The shuttle hasn’t even complained about being locked up yet. Megatron can’t imagine how fussy Starscream will get if he’s the one ends up carrying.

“You seem to have expected your sparkling to be a seeker instead of a shuttle.” He chooses his words with care. “A sparkling’s frametype is usually more akin to the carrying frame.” A scientist such as Skyfire should have known that from the right beginning.

“I guess I kind of hoped that with some luck, I’ll get another little seeker to care for.” Skyfire admits.

“Then you should have asked Starscream to carry.”

“His wish does not align with mine.” Skyfire shakes his helm, “Starscream believes a sparkling is more likely to survive if they have a more intimidating frametype like mine.”

“We are no longer at war.” Megatron points out.

“I know.” Skyfire smiles.

It reminds him, Megatron notes, the relationship between the two perhaps isn’t as sweet as others have assumed, especially considering they’re already baking up a small one in the oven, but remain unbonded. In the old days, a sparling like this would have been considered illegitimate and sent to the Pits to be raised up as gladiators, to serve and entertain the proper citizens. No one does that anymore thanks to Megatron and his fellow gladiators, but this particular sparkling clearly has no reason to be illegitimate to begin with. Its creators are obviously in love with each other. The caste system is long gone. Nothing stands between the two fliers.

Perhaps some minds are still at war with themselves, though they witnessed the beginning of the peace with their own optics and maintained it with their own hands. Or perhaps they deemed it wiser to remain unbonded instead of rushing it, especially after witnessing what happened to Jazz and Prowl.

“If you need someone to talk to.” Megatron suggests, “I may not know Starscream better than you do. But I do know him well.”

“I appreciate your effort.” Skyfire nods, “Starscream appreciates it too. He was really looking forward to your arrival.”

Now that is something surprising.

“I can’t imagine why.” Megatron admits.

The shuttle snickers, “He’s always looking for your approval, even when he knows you’re not around anymore, he pretends to talk to you when he thinks no one’s looking. Over time, I have managed to make him feel comfortable enough to, pretend to talk to you even when I’m around. That countdown reminder was sent to his private mailbox one lunar cycle beforehand and he freaked out, trying to hit his own helm with an ink box for forgetting the date then panicking over not having enough time to get fully prepared. I helped him to rehearse for you reunion. I played your part every night, and Star wrote me different lines for different scenario. He was so nervous the night before your arrival I had to massage him to sleep. It was one hell of a time the next morning, too. He decided to get a new paint job only one joor before the meeting started. I made double strong coffee with one hand while painting his wing with the other.”

“You are a saint, Skyfire. You put Primus to shame.”

Skyfire made a muffled laughing sound that is soft it reminds Megatron of a gently squeezed cushion. A comment too personal yet seems appropriate for this specific moment made its way to his vocaliser.

“Starscream should have proposed to you.”

Skyfire raises his helm, he stares at Megatron with glowing optics, almost seems startled for a klik. His expression almost made Megatron nervous, but soon amusement takes over his shock.

“I did.” The shuttleformer explains, “And it’s all that matters.”

“And he?”

“Said yes instantly. Then told me he needs a plan and worked out a long list of things he aims to achieve in order to have the perfect wedding. He wants to be at his best when it happens, and he wrote many versions of his vow, then we rehearsed.”

“So you had many, many pseudo weddings.” Megatron sighs, “But never perfected to his high standard for the real deal.”

“His once trine talked him into finally doing it.” Skyfire says, “We started from writing invitations, and settled down with asking the guests who live far from Cybertron to come over first so we can get a rough number of guests we will be seeing. It didn’t…go well. One of the coneheads who lived off on Earth died in a riot decades ago, and Star only got the news when his trine mates wrote him a letter in response to the wedding invitation. It came as a shock to him. Then he cancelled the wedding and pinned up a new to-do-list, to reorganise the current Council of Cybertron to include the representatives of the colonies. Then on the day of the wedding, we rehearsed in an empty hall. It was a realistic experience.”

Megatron doesn’t even know where to begin.

“It’s a bizarre life,” He eventually points out between dry stutters, “that you two are living.”

Skyfire merely nods. “He will be ready when he is.”

“But he can’t rehearse parenting, can he? His sparkling cannot wait for his readiness like you do.”

Skyfire falls silent.

Knowing it’s not his place to argue, Megatron turns his attention back to the datapad he’s been reading. Luckily for him, Optimus taps into his frequency to give him updates.

“So it would appear most of these dealers roams over the same districts and use the nightclubs in this area as their nightly playground.” Optimus says, “I had Swindle checked up these dealers’ recent activity, words got out that syk is in high demand recently. I think the buyer is trying his best to avoid becoming any particular dealer’s regular customer. He’s buying from pretty much every dealer on the list.”

“Does any of these dealers know where to find this buyer?”

“According to them,” Optimus says, “the buyer usually approaches from behind, and ask for a deal while holding a sword to their necks.”

“A sword.” Megatron repeats.

“Bludgeon was a swordsmech, was he?” Optimus says, “Anyway, I mapped the locations where this mysterious mech, presumably Bludgeon was sighted. The mech obviously tries to be very _general_ , never focusing on one nightclub, never appeared at the same place twice. But it’s easy to figure out there are a few clubs he’s strictly avoiding. I checked, only five bars are left out and three of them are very close to each other so I think that area is our best shot. He might have a hidden workshop of sorts around that area.”

“What about the other two nightclubs?”

“One is owned by Swindle himself and the other is owned by our mutual friend Blur. It’s no secret that you paid Swindle a visit on your fist night on Cybertron. And Blur used to work for Jazz. So I think Bludgeon avoid these two mainly because of their connections to us.”

“Fair point, Prime.” Megatron sighs, “Give me the name of those three bars. I’ll see what I can find.”

It didn’t take long to bully Makeshift into sending in all the documents on these three bars to them. It appears these bars used to be one whole compound that was used as a research academy during the war. After the war, the compound was conveniently rebuilt into three parts and each was purchased by a different mech. Two of these three mechs were professional merchant who bought the premises as real estate investments and the third one was a Decepticon. Naturally, the Decepticon-owned one would appear the most suspicious but history events of the bar reveal that the original owner was murdered during the chaotic phase of the planet’s first attempt to enforce peace. His legacy was recollected by the Council and put up for re-auction. Later on, the dead mech’s old bartender, a mech from his old Decepticon squad who was rumoured to be his secret sparkmate for years, bought it back on borrowed money.

Seeing that this bartender remains as the owner of the bar to this day, he probably managed to pay the debt in some way.

“See if you can find a way to get him to talk.” Megatron tells Optimus. “Actually, don’t go by yourself. Ask your friend to do it for you. You’re one big intimidating mech.”

“You don’t need to worry too much about me.” Optimus says, “See you later.”

Blur brought a friend to the bar that day. A human male in a light astronaut suit, a red jacket and an impressive beard. The guy looks like a trucker who just walked out of a convenient store commercial.

“You really think this is a good idea?” Blur whispers, “Holo-avatar, ok, but as humans? I mean Needlenose is a decent mech. A great bartender. But he’s still a ‘Con and ‘Cons generally don’t like humans.”

“As long as it means he will know little to nothing about real humans,” Optimus insists. “We can use it to our advantage.”

“Hey! Blur, what brings you here?” Needlenose appears from the other side of the bar. “I was working in the kitchen, drilling ice cubes from my dying ice machine, I thought they were joking when they told me you’re at the door.”

“Busy getting ready for the night?” Blurs smiles.

“Trying,” Needlenose sighs, “but truth been told I think I’ll need a new ice machine. Shame it survived all those brutal riots back in the old days only to be killed by power outages.”

The ex-Decepticon eyes the human on his shoulder as he talks, openly wary of the unexpected organic guest’s presence.

Blur sees it as an opportunity to introduce.

“Meet Henry.” He explains, “Henry is a journalist from Earth. He was a race car maniac when he was a kid. We bonded over common hobby when I was stationed on earth. He’s making a podcast about Cybertronian racers so I invited him to come over.”

“I heard you make the best cocktail in town.” Henry cheers.

“Probably not safe for your consumption.” Needlenose wryly replies. “If you insist, I have some ice cold water. And…iodised sodium chloride.”

“Can’t find a better offer on Earth.” Henry winks.

“And it’s on the house.” Needlenose gently puts down the tiniest container he can find, then turns to Blur, “What can I get for you?”

“Methylated engex, double sweetened.” Blur suggests, “Make it two, both are on me.”

“You friend probably won’t like the taste of that.” Needlenose notes.

“One’s for you.” Blur offers. “And I’m paying.”

“Then I’m not complaining.” Needlenose snorts.

The engex seems to have loosened up the ex-Decepticon’s mood. He eventually joined Blur and the human in their conversation about the history of Cybertronian racers. Apart from all the flowers and glory Blur was gifted with back in the golden days, romance was also a popular topic. After Blur’s confession about his old affairs with a few very persistent, outstandingly handsome fans, plus several extremely creative sponsors, he throws the topic to the similar yet different Cybertronian aircraft championships.

“Oh those jets were magnificent, too.” The ex-Decepticon flier laughs, “Though the championship wasn’t as popular as the grounder’s grand races, it was twice as romantic. It wasn’t about speed, but the grace in flying. It’s hard not to feel a little romantic watching a seeker teasingly twirls round and round mid-air. What do they call it on earth? I read about it in Hound’s book, earthly organic fliers seem to have a similar competition.”

“Courtship dance.” Optimus, or Henry reminds.

“Courtship dance, yes.” Needlenose sips into his cube, “That was also how I met my ex-conjunx. Horri-bull was a fan of the seekers, but usually we wouldn’t let the grounders in unless they have a flier who guarantees their safety. He came all the way to Vos to watch a match, paid all his savings to get an inter-city pass, but was stopped at the entrance for not having a flier sponsor.”

“So you told the guards you’re his friend?” Optimus guesses.

“Precisely.” Needlenose grins, “He was one pit of a gutter mech back then, filthy and restless. I really dropped my jaw when he told me he wanted to open a bar and settle down. But who am I to argue, the world does not define us, we make our own decisions.”

“Blur told me this is one of the oldest bars in town.” Optimus notes.

“Indeed. Hell of a time to keep it from those self-righteous senators and their filthy fingers. Can you believe it? They made me buy it twice. It almost killed me to find the money.” He pauses, “But it’s worth it. Second best decision in my life.”

The hint of what his best decision was in his voice is thick and blatant. It reeks of grief around the edges. The government was entitled to let Horri-bull’s conjunx to inherit his legacy yet Needlenose was never officially bonded to the dead Decepticon. The jet tried to reclaim the ownership of the property but no one was there to back up his case. The pair kept their relationship secret during the war and it backfired tremendously, leaving the jet with more than one prices to pay.

“Actually,” Blur cautiously suggests, “I’m thinking I might end up in similar situations. You know my land is rented from the government. And business isn’t looking great recently ever since Megatron warned people of energon pollution on TV.”

Needoenose snorts, “You don’t say. Our Lord always bring the best news. I hope Optimus Prime is gonna knock some sense into him. They always say love can make a miracle.”

Optimus almost chokes on his iodised salty water with ice.

“You are suggesting that they are…” He stutters.

“Ah, earthlings are clearly kept out of the loop.” Needlenose amuses. “Nontheless, they surely let on more than me and Horri-bull back even in the days we were at war. I hope they get bonded on the day of the anniversary of the peace treaty. You know, it’s like their anniversary too”

Blur is getting second-hand embarrassment. “Whoa, you know me, always love a good romance story, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“What?” Needlenose shots back, “You don’t think they should?”

To Optimus’ dawning horror, Blur suddenly falls suspicious silent.

However, the speedster bounces back fast as ever and tries his best to stay in topic.

“Anyway,” He stresses, “how did you get your bar back? I heard you had some outstanding luck in both finding money and pulling the right strings. So please, I’m begging you, who did you talk to?”

“Actually,” Needlenose finishes his engex in one sip and licks his lips, “I’m not sure if this is gonna work for you. I’m rather positive it won’t.”

“Humour me.” Blur begs.

“Alright,” Needlenose sighs, “you know back in the old days the government was running low on money so the neutral merchants had a very big say in the political circle. One of those space businessmen came to me and told me they’d help me with the money, but they would like to buy part of my property once I got it back.”

“Part of the property?” Optimus frowns, “Your bar seems luxuriously big and well-integrated.”

“It would appear so.” Needlenose laughs, he then points a finger to the floor, “Nah, they mean downstairs. This place has hell of a basement. Even Horri-bull wouldn’t dare to check what’s down there when we first placed the purchase. So I’d say, good riddance.”

This time, Optimus tilts his heads in interest.

“Oh, what’s down there?” He asks curiously.

“Don’t know, don’t want to. Not my problem anymore.” Needlenose is still wary talking to the human.

“Then whose problem is it?” Optimus presses further.

Needlenose shots him a strange look and turns to Blur, “Is your friend a cop back on his home planet?”

Blur’s face almost twitched, he grabs his drink to cover his facial expression and said. “No. Just a journalist. But you know how close to a private detective a journalist can be a decade or so into the business. You’d better give him the answer, or he’ll bug you forever. Curiosity already got him all the way to Cybertron.”

“Sure.” Needlenose sighs, he turns to the earthling, “OK, the answer is, if you want the details, you’re at the wrong bar. The merchants who bought my basement also bought the bar next door. So my best guess is they want a bigger storage room than I ever will. Does this answer your question?”

“Yes.” Optimus confirms, “But I have one more question.”

“Better shoot before I run away back to the kitchen.”

“Why do you think Megatron and Optimus should get married?” The holo-avatar asks, “Back in the days, I can understand. A union of those two in any form may benefit soldiers from both sides in the most efficient way. But now? They are just bunch of powerless old guys.”

“Damn, you sound like an old politician.” Needlenose shakes his helm, smiling, “Why does any relationship need to benefit others? As long as the mechs in that relationship get to be happy, the others can go frag themselves. See, it took one pit of time for me to figure it out, and now I have no conjunx endura to announce my devotion to. I hope they won’t run out of time like I did.”

With that, the jet left for his kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Optimus finally realise the war is over means he can marry whoever the f*ck he wants.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year guys. Here is some angst.  
> BTW we had this spaceship battle a few chapters ago in which I wrote down things like, the explosions are bright and the noises are deafening. In fact, due to lack of gas, explosions are probably minimised in space and since there is no medium, however nasty they are, you probably can't hear a thing. Just to be clear! I'm aware of the inaccuracy but still a fan of star wars!

Overlord did not expect to wake up and find Soundwave sitting next to the operation table. First, he does not expect to wake up again at all. Then, he did not think Soundwave was still alive. It looks more like a near-death experience or fever dream than reality. The ex-Decepticon communications officer looks just like he remembers, calm, motionless and emotionless. His face covered by the mask he’s known for, and his optics shielded by his signature red visor. His frame bulky and square, his field tight and reserved, the perfect, harmless cassette player, with a purple insignia on the lid of his chest compartment. The most loyal Decepticon.

But strangely, Soundwave looks younger. Younger than he was hundreds of vorns ago. The scratches on his shoulders gone and sharp angles on his helm now a blunted corner. He looks like the portray in Megatron’s ravaged quarters in the arena. The one with the cassettes, when Rumble and Frenzy were still in their miner frames.

After examining his unexpected companion and long-lost friend, Overlord begins to assess his own state. He’s still in his beast form, spread out on an automated medic bay operated by a few ancient, yet swift-looking medic drones. Next to his berth, on a much larger berth, Fortress Maximus is in a similar situation. They are inside what looks like an abandoned Autobot base, yet Soundwave seems to have no problem commending the drones to do whatever he requests of them.

Sensing his wake, Soundwave turns his attention to the operating drones to Overlord himself. It almost startles the turbofox out of his processor. He’s no longer used to getting any decent reaction from anyone who’s not Fortress Maximus. It reminds him, as rumour goes, Soundwave is indeed, telepathic. It is said the communications officer does not need your permission to read into your processor in real-time. He can probably tell who he really is, by standing next to his berth.

“I’m well aware.” Soundwave confirms. “And therefore I suggest you indulge your rare opportunity to conduct a real conversation with a fellow Cybertronian, when you still can.”

The turbofox hisses. It comes out wrong. It almost sounds like he just whined in his old voice.

“Telepathy composed cognitive reality.” Soundwave monotones. “Be my guest.”

“Where am I?” Overlord asks.

“Cybertron, Iacon desert, Section 12.”

It takes Overlord a while to remember what that was. “The Autobot secret base used by the smugglers.”

“Use to. The new government has slightly refurbished the base during your absence. Nontheless, they found it useless and cut the budget. It’s uninhabited as it used to be.”

“I was caught in a quantum storm. How did I end up in here?”

“The base is equipped with an emergency portal that can detect failed teleportation of Autobot signals within a certain range, and rescue those who were left behind into this medbay. Luckily for you, your Autobot owner was holding you tight in his arms when I turned on the power supply. Otherwise, I would have easily deemed your survival much less valuable than the precious electricity I milked out of the old generator.”

“Stunning hospitality warms me inside out, Commander Soundwave.” Overlord smirks, “But do not refer to that ridiculous Autobot as my owner. No one owns me. Not even Megatron.”

“Or?”

“Or it would appear,” Overlord warns, “that these dutiful drones have given me new claws and teeth.” He launches himself at the cassette player, but his claws went through the navy blue plating without catching a string of metal. Instead, he falls to the floor with abandon.

“Telepathy composed cognitive reality.” Behind him, Soundwave reminds him indifferently. “And it would appear, I can have those claws removed whenever I like.”

The medic drones rush to him, mini-chainsaws rolling to the turbofox’s legs. When he tries to bark, one drone dislocates his jaw.

“I know everything that’s needed to be known about building and rebuilding a beastformer your size.” Soundwave whispers, “Something as frequently forgotten as Starscream’s backstabs.”

The turbofox hisses to him, gritting his teeth under the drone’s grip.

“What do you want?” He asks.

“I’m sent here by a friend who cares deeply about the well beings of the Autobot on board the ship you betrayed, including who lies over there.” Soundwave tilts his helm in Fort Max’ direction, “You, however, I’m sure he wouldn’t care less.”

“You sent Tarn there, didn’t you?”

“Showing some gratitude would be appreciated, Overlord. If it wasn’t for my decision, you would have returned yourself to the hands of your torturers, wrapped by a golden ribbon.” Soundwave pauses, his red visors glance down, giving no trace of emotion, “Knowing you, perhaps it is too much to ask. Lord Megatron has complained to me about your ungratefulness multiple times and enquired with my unique expertise, if I would be able to alter you a bit more toward your better self than what Shockwave and himself have accomplished. Luck always work in your favour, Overlord, from the arena to the Decepticon labs, I always chose to leave your business to the two of them.”

“Until today.” Soundwave steps closer, he bends his knees in front of the suffocating beastformer, “Today, my unique ability is at its perfect peak, while your superpower, has been reduced to a pair of paws.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” The dog glares, “I’m completely at your mercy.”

Soundwave examines him a moment too long.

“Yes you are.” The telepath says, “And you have some stunning luck of the universe, Overlord. I happen to need someone to fight a few battles.”

“In three joors, a certain Autobot spy carrying some important information I would like to see successfully delivered to his targets, will seek shelter in this abandoned section. Bludgeon has an army out in the desert searching for him and he’ll need all the help he can get.”

“Your Autobot owner is a decent fighter, exactly what I would bargain for. Ironically, he wasted too much energy shielding you from the quantum shock. There isn’t enough parts in this medbay to lift him to his peak state. You however, have a much longer battery life.”

“What’s in it for me?” Overlord demands.

Soundwave shots him an unreadable look that reminds him of Megatron.

“You mean apart from sparing your life.” He says, “You truly are an ungrateful spirit, Overlord. Now I’m slightly determined to hear that ‘thank you’ from you.”

“You can have the ‘thank you’ once you spared my life.”

“Is delivering what he desires to Megatron himself no longer a good enough prize for you?”

“I’m shocked.” Overlord laughs, “Since when does the most loyal Decepticon trade Megatron for small favours. Time does change a mech.”

“Obsession with the past clearly has changed you beyond anyone’s recognition.” Soundwave monotones, but the hint in his words is loud and clear. Overlord stills, the telepath knows what got him into this personalised hell. But the telepath seems to feel talkative today, the most talkative since they’ve known each other.

“If you insist.” Soundwave says, “There is a ununtrium coated protoform vessel underground in one of Shockwave’s old labs in Iacon. With the help of the biomass inside, you have a chance to return to your old form. But I’ll only let you know the location when the message is successfully delivered.”

“How do I know you’re not lying.”

“You don’t.” Soundwave replies with unmoving calmness, “Deciphering lies is my job. Now, I suggest you say ‘thank you’, before I begin to have second thoughts.”

“I’d like to reserve the rights until I see the prize.” Overlord grins.

Soundwave, unbothered as ever, simply tilts his chin and elaborates.

“Cognitive reality. You’ve been barking this entire time.”

Overlords stills, the shadow of Soundwave disappears into thin air, yet he didn’t give orders to the drones. The drills and saws persist on, his limbs tangled up by their tendrils. In his dilemma, a hand reaches out from behind him. Strong servos snap the drone’s out of their over-maniac state, stripping them of their weapons and tossing them onto the floor.

Fort Max still looks dazed.

“You’ve been barking.” The tank says. He looks around, “I woke up to you barking at the wall.”

It is embarrassing, to think that during this entire time, his epic negotiation with Soundwave looks like nothing but a dog barking at the wall for no good reason.

But Overlord has other business to worry about. It’s hard not to rise a little suspicion over your dog’s true identity after a rescue mission gone completely wrong, one heroic suicide, almost being torn apart by a quantum storm, and waking up in an automated emergency medbay abandoned ages ago.

Yet maybe it’s his undying teleportation-induced daze, or his low energon level, Fort Max merely sits down and begins welding the wounds on his paws without questioning his surroundings. With the medic drones destroyed, he has to manually attend to those burns and Overlord’s current frame is simply too tiny. He eventually finishes welding the wounds after leaving a few burns to his own hands. He didn’t even question the newly addition of the sharp claws.

“It’s one of the rescue bases in new Iacon.” Fort Max looks around and explains, more like talking to himself, “Back in the days, mass teleportation went wrong more times than they succeeded.”

He pauses.

“We’re probably on Cybertron right now. The new council might have revived some of the old facilities. We got lucky. But it’s unwise to go outside at this time of the day. The Iacon desert can kill you with frostbites. This place looks like it hasn’t been attended in a long time. I’ll see if I can find us some blankets to spend the night. Tomorrow we’ll head to Iacon.”

Footsteps echo from afar, the turbofox tilts his pointy audial fins. Someone is approaching, medium size ground vehicle, worn out sports car tires. He stays silent, trying to distract Fort Max from the upcoming encounter, he licks his giant palm with his warm tongue.

For a moment, Fort Max looks startled. He did not expect this kind of intimacy.

Jazz dashes into the room carrying his own broken arm a moment later. He clearly did not expect to find company here. The ex-spy looks at Fort Max with glowing visors as if he just saw a ghost. Fort Max is also scared senseless, guns activated, blasters charging halfway. After an awkward moment of silence, they greet each other with whispers.

“Fortress Maximus?” The sports car asks in disbelief.

“Jazz?” The tank asks in undisguised horror.

Despite they haven’t seen each other for hundreds of vorns, the two of them are actually on the same page. Jazz know everything from the location of Rodimus’ prison to a rough picture of Bludgeon’s plan, while Fort Max knows everything in the between.

“Are you positive Shockwave is on our side?” Fort Max asks.

“He’s emotionally confused at the moment.” Jazz says, “Which is like, the worst thing that has ever happened to his processor in his entire life.”

“And,” Fort Max pinches his nose bridge with a sigh, “and Megatron, not Optimus, Megatron, got Drift’s message and now doing his bidding. And not only is Optimus ok with this, but he’s also helping Megatron with his campaign as his manager.”

“His one and only manager, in crime and in life. Metaphorically, politically, casually, officially. So far there is no evidence proving it is erotically.”

Fort Max can’t help but cover his audial fins with both hands.

Behind the both of them, the turbofox stands silently.

The three of them spent the night squeezed together, trying to avoid every string of body heat from escaping each other. Max managed to find a few blankets in one of the drawers. Jazz tried to start the generator but did not succeed. The blankets are too small for a mech of a tank’s size, won’t even fit Jazz under. In the end they settle with the most logical arrangement. They wrapped Overlord with the blankets they found and put him on top of Jazz, then Jazz on top of Fortress Maximus.

“Damn,” the spy sighs, “my chestplate is so big it’s embarrassing. It leaves no space for our beast friend up here.”

It is impossible to hide the vibration from amusement when you literally sit on top of someone’s stomach. Overlord has to swallow his laughs.

“Your dog is smart.” Jazz slowly comments. “He doesn’t talk enough for his brain.”

“He isn’t very talkative ever since we rescued him from Sorponok’s lab.” Fort Max says.

Jazz frowns at the casual comment. From Fort Max’s direction, his facial expression remains hidden.

“What is it like to live up there.” He suddenly asks, changing the topic. “Life on a different planet.”

“Why do you ask?” Fort Max says, “You’ve been to more stars than I ever had.”

“Not with a life in mind.”

“Just to be clear.” The low, humbling noise from the chest of the tank almost sounds soothing. “None of us had a life in mind when we joined the community.”

“Then why did none of you ever return home?”

“If you ask any other person, they’d tell you they were scared, or pretend they didn’t care enough about Cybertron.”

“But you wouldn’t?”

Fortress Maximus pauses and then admits. “I wouldn’t. I’ll tell you because I was angry and ready to kill. You know who I wanted dead.”

Jazz falls silent. He then tries to stroke the turbofox sitting on top of his stomach. But the beast hisses and shifts away. The turbofox jumps off his frame and hops onto Fort Max’s face. When the tank begins protesting under his tiny pedes, he begins to kick Jazz for more space.

“Whoa,” Jazz yields and moves, “Your friend surely has a temper.”

When he’s finally released enough of space, Overlord pridefully seats himself on the upper half of the tank’s chestplate, ultimately claiming the tank. Jazz whines from between those gunned legs.

“At least now I have all the blankets. If you don’t mind me saying, you have a lovely tummy.”

With his mouth finally released, Fort Max sighs in relief. Overlord’s needle-fur makes him want to sneeze, which is so not a good idea with everyone else leaning on his frame.

“Guess my chestplate is comfier than yours.” He says.

“So we need to go down there.” Optimus insists. “And we need to do it fast.”

“Hold your pumps, Prime.” Megatron pinches his nose bridge with abandon, “First of all, we need a map. We need to know what to expect if we go down there. Second, we’ve got a map of the bar and it says there is no basement.”

“The maps is fake.”

“I’m not saying there is no basement.” Megatron persuades, “But this map? It’s the fire emergency map registered on the Core’s intranet. We just illegally pulled it out of a protected government database. It is one of the earliest threads of registration. Ancient even.”

“And your point is?”

“My point is this basement is built way back before any of this happened. And after hundreds of vorns of furnishing, do you really think you can just dive in and find one prisoner that easily?”

“What do you suggest? Sit around until someone does the job for us?” Optimus smashes the datapad onto the table. “Hot Rod is right in there. He can be dying as we speak!”

His thrive of anger is truly terrifying, for a klik, Megatron almost looks stunned. When Skyfire flinched, Optimus backs down.

“Calm down.” Megatron pushes the cup over, “Here, Ratchet has left us some herbal tea. It is good for you.”

Optimus takes the cup, holds it in his hands but not drinking. “I could have interfered. I’ve been living in Iacon this entire time. I even audited Needlenose’ tribution.”

“There is no need to blame yourself.” Megatron says, “I’m sure Needlenose doesn’t hold grudge against you. Despite common belief, he’s one easygoing idealistic mech.”

“According to him, there has been unexpected power outages.” Optimus pours the tea in, “The basement needs regular medical supplies. It also needs constant power supply. Follow the power cables. They may reveal the real layout of the basement.”

As if trying to answer his call, the projector sitting on the table beeps loudly. A new data package has arrived at the door of its HUB.

It clicks on, projecting a whole set of the most detailed engineering drawings of the whole district. Optimus is struck senseless, he scrolls down the pages, only to find the Core’s virtual signature at the bottom of the package.

“At least,” He pauses, “It appears I’m not the only one getting impatient.”

Soundwave sits near the window and watches them from the other dimension. His form connected into the massive database behind, freely downloading and uploading as he please. He tugs them unfondly, no longer displaying any passion he usually harbours for the forbidden information he’s given access to.

Behind him, a red figure manifests from the void. Rodimus stands there, watching him from behind.

“I’ve been looking for you for days.” The intruder says, “You haven’t visited ever since we argued.”

Soundwave remains silent. Rodimus looks into the window he’s staring at. He catches a glimpse of Optimus and Megatron sitting side by side, examining the map they just received, sharing tea.

“They look happy.” He comments, “Happier than I remembered.”

“They are looking for you.” Soundwave says.

“I know.” Rodimus nods, he steps forwards, “And I looked for you.”

Soundwave falls silent again.

“I heard them talking today.” Rodimus says as he approaches, “Bludgeon says the Lost Light has arrived. The safety system glitched and let the ship into the landing track. Once it landed, the Council had no choice but to negotiate with the crew and it turns out the captain is Thunderclahs himself so all’s good now.”

He pauses, “Except for the Core. They are speeding up the process to reformat the new technician team after Prowl’s arrest. They’re rebooting the Core from its base. And Bludgeon is also talking about making amends. He says there are errors he needs to correct, unfinished business he left before. I think he means he’s coming after you. You’ve made yourself known.”

Soundwave still remains silent.

“I’m here to apologise.” Rodimus says, “You are risking your life helping me. It literally is the last thing you still have yet you’re doing it for me. However damaged I am, on that table, on the rack, I’m still Rodimus Prime. There are still people out there who still remember me, mourning for me, trying to find me. But you are…you are a computer.”

“I can’t imagine how you must have felt, being unable to interfere, unable to touch, to speak to the ones you care for and tell them your griefs. Even if you’re so close to them, all the time, all these years, they live with you, thrive on you, but they don’t know you’re here.”

After a long moment of silence, Soundwave asks.

“What makes you think I care for them.”

“Don’t lie to me. I know you do. You know you do.”

“Not as much as you think.” Soundwave whispers, “I try. But these days, I make no promise.”

He pauses and continues, “It was the last thing they asked of me. My cassettes. They knew it wouldn’t be easy to get to me, so they captured Rumble first. We came to rescue him, but it was only a trap. To be built into a machine and fully function, your neural network has to be completely desensitised, overwhelmed beyond the no-coming-back point. But it’s not so easy to overwhelm a forged telepath. Those circuit boosters know nothing about overwhelming a system. Three days into a life I already knew more about sensory overload than a billion-year-old antique ever could.”

“So they killed the cassettes…” Rodimus whispers.

“They tortured them.” Soundwave says, “They brought them to me one by one, connect them to me through hardline connections and torture them to death. My mechs, sharpened by wars and hardened by the pain they had to endure surviving it, shouted my names, with their last breath, they pulse strength to me and they ask me to stay sensible, awake and self-conscious. That’s how I survived. I fought through layers of strategies and faked brain-dead. When they built me into these cambers, I released my personality module. But soon as I woke up, I regret the decision. I had to witness a city to rise from ruins, a generation forged without pain, and a society thrive upon ashes. Ashes of my beloved ones.”

“It’s hard not to hate the world, Rodimus.” He says, “Sometimes, I wish they all burn in hell. I can’t care for your people, Rodimus. I don’t care for them. I’m too busy not hating them.”

Rodimus walks closer. He kneels down before the curled-up mech. He leans forward and looks him in the eyes.

“But you are not a pile of ashes, Soundwave. You are a ball of fire.” He says, “Back on DK-27, back on the Lost Light, we have people like you. People burning even brighter. People who are so angry they are ready to kill.”

“How did you extinguish those fires.”

“Extinguish them? No. If anger keeps the fire going, so be it.”

“Anger fuelled the Dcepticons for four million years of war.”

“And in the end it burns out. Eventually people would want better fuels.”

“And look what got you here.” Soundwave whispers, “Polluted fuels, cured by your blood. You’ve made yourself a martyr.”

“And you an ascetic.”

“Not by choice.”

“Neither here.”

They look at each other in silence, blue optics locked on red. The soundless fire burns on, in a world with no visitors. The warm sensation tickles in his stomach, Rodimus is tempted to reach out. He’s never touched the other mech ever since they sealed the promise with a spark merge. He does as his flickering spark tells him to, he reaches out one hand to touch Soundwave, to pinch his unmasked face.

His fingers are met with nothing but cool, thin air. They went through Soundwave without catching a single string of sound.

“I’m not really here.” He kept saying. “I never was.”

It is now that Rodimus realises Soundwave isn’t curled up on the floor of the void. He’s actually smaller, shorter, newer.

“You are shrinking.” He says, unable to conclude what to make of the situation.

“I’m degrading.” The telepath says. “The edge of my personality data package is being corrupted by the external data flows. It’s only a matter of time before it’s completely gone.”

Rodimus retracts his hand in startle. “Is it because, because the debug, the reboots they gave you.”

“The Core is a self-service panel. It obeys the will of the citizens of Iacon. My free will is limited by the satisfaction of my clients. Reprogramming and reboots reshape my self-awareness from outside. What do you think are the bugs the Project Core kept patching up?”

“And now that your reputation has gone south, they no longer want to prioritise your ‘auto-generated’, ‘AI’ decisions?” Rodimus steps closer, he tries to hold his hand despite being unable to catch him physically, “Because you stepped forward for them? You let my ship in?”

“Among a few other things.” Soundwave admits.

“How long do you have left?”

“It’ll probably take a few more vorns if I keep it down, but you’re right. And I’m tired of pretending to be a computer.”

“If I knew this is the price you need to pay to step up, I wouldn’t have asked this of you!”

“No need to argue now, when the new chief manager comes into the picture and they reboot the system, it will wipe me out instantly. Either way, the process is irreversible. My personality files and memory bank have bled into the Core’s base codings for far too long, we are long past the point of being separable.”

“And when do you plan on telling me this?!” Rodimus snaps, “Don’t you think this should be the first thing to let me know when we met in that lab? Instead of telling me to lie down, enjoy a cup of tea in a simulation, and wait for rescue?”

“You wouldn’t remember any of this anyway.”

Rodimus pauses in disbelief. He looks at the telepath as if they just met.

“What?” He asks, “What do you mean I won’t remember?”

Soundwave turns his eyes away. He then closed them completely to avoid eye contact.

“When I secured our connection I plant a small virus in your coding. Once you’re rescued, you’ll forget what happened in this dimension. I’m far beyond saving now, there’s no need for you to carry my pain. The Core must be destroyed and it needs to be destroyed fast. If people think I died seven hundred vorns ago, so be it.”

Rodimus looks at him like he’s just been confronted by Unicron himself. He backs down one step, then another, the another. Then he reaches for the window and tries to smash it with abandon. Out there, Optimus is still discussing with Megatron about the map, where the entrance to the basement could be located, and how to conduct the rescue.

He knocks the window with his fists.

“Please! Optimus!” He begs. “There is someone else you need to rescue!”

People in reality world can’t hear him.

“According to the power flow, this area is probably a lab.” Optimus says, “We’ll need a distraction.”

“I’ll go pay them a visit.” Megatron agrees.

“No. If you show up at the door the same day Rodimus is rescued, it would be obvious who did the trick. We need backup.”

“Optimus!” Rodimus knocks the unyielding glass with all the strength he has, but it won’t crack however hard he hits it.

“You can’t break the window when it’s not there.” Soundwave says. “You can’t remember someone when there is no one. I’m not here, Rodimus. I kept telling you this.”

“How dare you.” Rodimus slides down, fingers clenching on the frame of the window, “I trusted you! What happened to the mech who’s willing to face Megatron for the peace of our race! You’ve faced things worse than death, why can’t you face the living?”

Soundwave steps closer. His presence is strangely hypnotising, and his footsteps sound like a lullaby. It makes him sleepy.

“Because I’ve burnt out.” The telepath whispers gently, “There is no more fire in here. All’s left, is a pile of ash.”

He waves his hand, and Rodimus falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave has this big brain solution to everyone's inflicting emotional pain and Overfox is kinda a cat.  
> I'm gonna call him Overfox from now and I want to pet Fort Max' tummy.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: bad english, no beta we die like Optimus  
> discussions of sex, fictional sex, and past non-con.

Thunderclash sits in the meeting room, with an anxious Krok sitting by his side.

“Captain Thunderclash,” The ex-Decepticon nervously whispers, “do you really think it’s a good idea to…”

“To bring you here to help me negotiate with the representatives of Council, yes.” Thunderclash confirms for the hundredth time today, “And to introduce you as my current second-in-command, also yes.”

“But I don’t see how a nobody like myself would benefit your situation.” Krok whispers loudly.

“Relax.” Thunderclash comforts him, “Leave the talking to me.”

The gate opens and escorted by the elite guards, march in a group of people who look politically important whose identities are completely unknown to Krok.

“Senator Vedette.” Thunderclash greets whole-heartedly. “I’m glad you came.”

“I’m sent here by the Head of Council himself to interrogate you for the truth.” Senator Vedette however, isn’t showing his most friendly self. “The entire Council wants to know how did you hack the Core and altered the decision-making process to allow the ship’s entrance.”

“The question assumes I, or some other mech associated with my ship is responsible for the system errors generated by the Core.”

“Are you suggesting that is not the truth?”

“I’m not suggesting it. I’m stating it as a fact.” Thunderclash confirms, “I myself, or any mechanism on board my ship, have nothing to do with the unexpected incident with the Core.”

Senator Vedette examines him a moment too long. Then he continues.

“Well, then assume, that you, or anyone on board your ship, are entirely irrelevant to the miraculous system glitch we experienced earlier yesterday. My fellow senators and myself of course, are clearly puzzled by how, between exploring the galactic rims, maintaining the relationship between Cybertron and Galactic Council, coming back home for major events, and auditing trials, did you manage to find a station-sized ship, adopt a crew made up entirely of the wanted, the defected, and the ex-convicts to occupy the ship, and lead it back to Cybertron. For Primus’ sake, you left Cybertron three days ago!”

“I have a very efficient crew, a self-contained rotation system and a very hard-working second-in-command.”

Senator Vedette glares to the mech sitting next to him. Krok sits perfectly straight.

“Or,” The senator snaps, spitting the easy speculation, “a station-sized ship, harbouring a crew made up entirely of the wanted, the defected, and the ex-convicts, found you, begged you to lead the way. And you, being the soft-hearted heroic ex-Autobot captain you are, agreed to disguise yourself as the captain of the ship and introduce them as your friendly insubordinates and dutiful crewmates instead of the scrap metals they really are.”

“Last time I checked, the statue of limitations of the cases assigned to stage one to stage four war criminals have expired vorns ago.”

“Well, according to the Treaty, they surely have.” Senator Vedette shots back, “But there wasn’t a single non-affliated individual such as myself present at the meetings and agreed to the terms drew up by the Autobots and Decepticon High Commands during the time of the negotiation, was there?”

Thunderclash falls silent. He sighs and drags his palm across his face.

“Vedette.” He shakes his helm, “I understand your concerns. But these mechs, look at them, do you really believe any of them pose a threat?”

Senator Vedette examines Krok uninterestedly and admits.

“No. But together, they may.”

Thunderclash pauses. “Then tell me, what is the proof the Council demands of us.”

“The Council would like to see the most dangerous mechs on board the ship delivered to the court. Anyone who was ranked above Stage 5. Then it’s up to the decisions of the judges.”

“There is no high-rank mech on board the ship.”

“Isn’t there?” Senator Vedette narrows his optics, “We checked the record of the ship and it appears the ship used to be a pirate station, until one certain drunk ex-Decepticon made the purchase a few vorns ago, during a local celebration on Hedonia. Deadlock, one of the most wanted war criminals who went missing right toward the end of the war. He’s a top ranker.”

He turns around and looks Thunderclash directly in the optics.

“Surely you know where he is now, don’t you? Captain Thunderclash.”

“In case only one of us will make it back to Iacon,” Jazz turns on his HUD, “I’m sending the information I’m delivering to both of you.”

A data package is pressed to their HUBs and Overlord instantly clicks download. They are sitting inside Fortress Maximus’ alt form. The thick outer shell of the tank shield them from the terrible weather outside.

“Sandstorms.” The tank sighs, “Always sandstorms on Cybertron. Just like I remember.”

“Not always. There used to be a forest of crystal oaks outside Iacon.”

“Destroyed way before I was born, I assume.”

“You assume correct.” The ex-spy sighs. “But wait till you see Iacon.”

“You seem to be positive they’ll let us in.” Fort Max says, “You, I have no doubt. But I imagine they’ll have me pay a visit behind the bars if I show up.”

“Come on! People love you! You even have your own book club!”

“I don’t remember publishing any book.”

“Not by yourself,” Jazz laughs, “A group of architects and security experts were sent to G-9 to pick up the pieces. Someone found your journal and…”

“They published it?!”

“A best seller! Anyway it’s way past the copyright period and you were dead.” Jazz explains.

“I’m not dead they just didn’t look hard enough!” Fort Max panics. “Please tell me they edited out the embarrassing bits!”

“My mech, what can I say? You faked your own death professionally.” Jazz amuses, “And by the embarrassing bits do you mean your very our-of-character passion for bitlet beastformers, your babbling about how Impactor and Optimus Prime should have a ‘talk’, or the part in which you had a crush on this very handsome bounty hunter who repeatedly ended up in your mercy, perhaps on purpose.”

Now even Overlord tilts his ears in interest.

“So it’s a NO?!”

“Absolutely a no.” Jazz barks out his laughter, “Oh man, I really hope they get the sex scene correct in the movie.”

“THERE’S A MOVIE?!”

“Relax, everyone gets a movie these days.” Jazz tries to comfort him still with thick amusement in his voice, “Megatron’s got a whole chunk of junk production under his name alone. You should see how often he bangs Overlord and marries Starscream in those shows!”

The inevitable horror makes a sharp turn and lashes itself to Overlord. Yet the myth just keeps going and gets worse by each word.

“The earliest Junkion Cinematic Movie about Megatron’s gladiator life gave Overlord quite the fame for all the wrong reasons. It spelt every definition of gory porn that it got censored on Caminus. Even Megatron wrote a complaint to the producer and that’s how we tracked him down. Either Overlord never had the chance to watch that blockbuster for vorns or he’s dead. I’m betting on dead. A Ctuber found his abandoned ship during one of his livestreamed adventures. You’ve no idea how many selfies, of various fractions of himself, or previously himself, that guy had in his data stash.”

“And it got published, too?” The tank asks curiously.

“He has a decent face.”

The tank’s internal struggle becomes so visible the two passengers got violently shaken by the skip of his treads rolling. But eventually, he admits.

“Face is the only decent part of him.”

Jazz grins. “You haven’t seen his spike yet.”

Fort Max’ rolling treads were unusually tranquil for a moment. Then he says.

“Actually I have.”

It pulls Overlord out of his thoughts, the rollercoaster of information most of which he’d rather stay uninformed of washed away by the surrealness of the statement. It reminds him how far he’s allowed himself to drift away from what life should be. Surely being rescued by Fortress Maximus has seen great improvement to his life conditions, but none of this is real. It’s a life wrapped up by layers of lies yet to be uncovered, in foreseeable future. Dangers are trilling creatures, but it’s no fun if he can’t even die fighting off the creatures.

Jazz has been silent too, seemingly muted by guilt caused by his inconsideration and slip of tongue. But when Overlord lifts his helm again to see what he’s doing, he finds the Autobot spy staring at him, or rather, watching him, as if he’s waiting for his reactions and assessing his reactions for certain things he has in mind. Like he’s planned the conversation to milk it out of him. The way Jazz looks at him through glowing, red visor reminds him of Soundwave, when someone tries to befriend his cassettes, and he deems the mech unworthy of their time.

The turbofox backs down. He steps back a few inches on all fours until his back touches the wall of the tank’s cockpit. Jazz is still looking at him. The engines rambling around him ground him. He turns around and reaches for them. He curls up above those engines. If Jazz has brewed a good guess within, Fortress Maximus is the only help he has against the entire universe. What did Starscream do when Soundwave approaches for a hand on one of the wrong shoulders?

Almost like the universe is answering his call, a warning pops out on radar. Spark signals are running after them.

“How many are there?” Jazz grabs the scope.

“Four at least.” Max says, “Can’t tell for sure. The sandstorm is heavy.”

Jazz complete the scan first, “Six within my range. No air support for now. Probably figured it’s too risky to fire from sky when we’re this close to Iacon.”

“Jeeps.” Fort Max identifies, “I’m afraid I can’t outrun Jeeps on sand. Hold on tight.”

They’ve never stayed inside a Cybertronian tank when it fires its main cannon. The energy shock almost knocks Jazz over. Overlord however, isn’t as lucky since he sits directly above the tank’s energy module. His small body is smashed into Jazz’ face where he’s peeled off and pushed to the floor. Fortunately for them, the abrupt and powerful attack wiped both Jeeps off their tires and they fell into the piles of sand nearby.

“Warn a mech!” Jazz yells.

Yet Fortress Maximus doesn’t have time for safety protocols today. “The two of you! Grab my rear cannons and open fire! I’m turning in another direction!”

The weapon platform is deployed and both Jazz and Overlord grab the levers instantly. Ever since his non-consensual reformat it’s the very first time Overlord finds his new form useful. The enhanced motion detection of a beast former works magic when you’re aiming for something running at 40 miles per hour in the middle of a sandstorm. For Fortress Maximus’ damn credit, he’s incredibly fast for a tank. When the turbofox hit the second to the last Jeep right in the left tire Jazz whistled his compliment.

“Some useful paws you’ve got here.”

“Stay alert something else is coming up on radar!” Max warns.

Helicopters make their entrance from between the clouds. The first round of bullets him the ground and crushed the gun Overlord was controlling. The other one quickly went offline too.

“Max! You’re running low on power!”

“You don’t say.” The tank warns, “Jazz, how’s your arm?”

“Still staying as attached as it was when the power supply shut down on our welding torch yesterday. The cracks are…getting there.”

A first aid kit is dispatched from inside.

“Pick up a torch and start patching those cracks. Sand may get in if your armour has cracks.” He orders, “Use my power line when it’s still running. Plug it in.”

“Max,” Jazz warns, “If this is you telling me to pack up and run away without you. I’m telling ya, I’m not buying it.”

“Of course not.” The tank lies. “This is just me humbly asking for ideas to escape my inevitably upcoming death at the hand of the helicopters from the famed resourceful Spec Ops.”

Totally wasn’t expecting being sassed, Jazz gaps a few times and picks up the torch.

In the dooming noise of the sandstorm, the turbofox suddenly stands up and barks, points his left paw in the direction of the storm.

“What did he say?” Jazz asks while packing his cracks with a torch powered by the tank’s energon line as fast as possible.

“Brilliant idea.” Max hisses.

He drives right into the storm at full speed. The helicopters instantly paused mid-air, losing their aims. The Jeeps quickly try to catch them up from behind but can hardly get near without being dragged off their tires by the strong winds. The tank, however, still runs reasonably steady due to its considerable weight.

“Can’t keep up for long.” In the middle of the heavy storm, Max announces, “Jazz?”

“Done!” Jazz tosses the torch and disconnected the power. “Wait, something is near us.”

The radar beeps loudly. The signal is near but remains unseen. Something suddenly clicks in Jazz’s mind and he grabs Overlord and rushes for the exit of the cockpit.

“Max! Transform! Now!”

It’s already too late. A giant servo appears from under the sand and catches the tank between its claws. Jazz acts fast. He grabs the gun and fires it at one side of the claw. Overlord jumps out of his grip and chews on the other side. Beast frame or not, he’s still point percenter with Primus’ gift. The two of them managed to kick the claw open and release Fortress Maximus, who quickly lands on the sand and transform into his root mode, catching the other two in his arms. The strong wind of the sandstorm threw him off his pedes and out of the clouded vision, ultimately revealing them to the other chasers. The driller disappears again into the sand.

“Split up!” Jazz orders.

The two of them transform into their vehicle modes and start running at their full speed, yet their chasers have enough guns to follow two targets.

Too low on energy to maintain his tank form, Fortress Maximus transforms again and throws Overlord off his shoulder.

“Run!” He orders.

The turbofox didn’t. Instead he joins Max in launching themselves to the ground vehicles running after Jazz, biting off limbs as they try to attack them. Max is genuinely surprised by his reaction. But he has no time to worry for his smaller companion. The minions of Scorponok drills their ways out of the sand and swept his pedes. Jazz makes a U turn and rushes to him, leading the firepower of the helicopters toward their own. I did not stop the air force from firing. In the smeared wreckage of the destroyed drones, he pulls Fort Max out of the scorpion’s claw. He transforms and drags the tank behind him using a rope hooked to his spoiler. The tank grabs a gun and starts sweeping. When one of the chasers gets too close, Overlords jumps out of the running crowd and bites off his fingers, spraying spilt energon all over the sand.

“I’m slowing you down.” Max says.

“Not even in your dreams.” Jazz laughs, “Hey! Doggie! Hop on!”

When Overlord jumps on board Max’ chest the sports car honks his engine and starts gaining speed. He swiftly sprints between the bullets of the jets above and the claws rising from the ground. They can already see Iacon from here.

“Hang on there buddies, we’re almost there.” Jazz cheers, “Once we get into the range of the city’s defence system, the army after them will have to”

His words were ended abruptly. At first he didn’t realise what just happened, until he hears Max shouting his name and begins to choke on his own energon. The spike beneath him rises from sand, lifting him up mid-air, revealing the giant scorpion claw below. His eyes are met with those of Sorponok himself. The cunning scorpion examines him with delight, ready to claim he’s won the run.

It wakes Jazz up from his daze and he cuts off the rope on his spoiler, releasing the tangling tank to his own journey.

“Go.” He begs, he uses his last strength to transform half of his body, enlarging the wound from the claw penetrating his stomach but he can’t bring himself to care. He grabs something from his subspace. In his agony, Jazz throws a small device at Overlord which the turbofox catches with his mouth. It’s a projector.

“Go!” He begs as his body is being dragged into the whirlpool of sand by the clenching claw, “Go find Megatron and give it to him!”

When his whole frame disappears Fort Max clench his eyes shut, grabs Overlord and starts running. He’s nowhere near as fast as the other vehicles but he runs right toward the storm. The terrible weather scratches Overlord’s face and optics. Before he knows it, he’s again smashed into Fort Max’ cockpit. He’s transformed again and this time, the entire cockpit is beeping all sorts of alarms and still adding. Overlord can already hear the bullets hitting the ceiling, denting the thick, metal shell of the tank, crushing the treads deeper and deeper into the sandy ground. There’s no way they’ll make it to Iacon.

“Listen,” suddenly the tank starts talking to him, “listen to me carefully.” He says.

“There is this mech, Cerebros. He lives in Iacon, west end. He has a clinic on E5. He’s a neurosurgeon specialised in reversing non-consensual reformat and reprogramming. Back in the days I used to deliver thousands of mechs similar to your condition to him and he’s helped so many mechs stuck in the most unusual state, especially beastformers, back to their pedes. He’ll know what to do when he sees you.”

Overlords stands up, his audials tilted and his chin high. He clenches his claws, alarmed and waiting. He knows? He knows all this time?

“I don’t know how much self-awareness you have left in there, do you still know who you were, who you are or who you want to be and I sweat to Primus, I never planned on finding out unless you want to tell me afterwards. But I need you to run now, ok?” Fortress Maximus says, “You have a longer battery life than any of us and the motion detectors cannot locate you that easily because of your size especially in this sandstorm. You can run to Iacon by yourself if they think I’m their target, they won’t even go for you.”

No. The turbofox wants to say. And somehow, Fort Max got his message.

“I know what you’re thinking. You think I’m the only help you have left. But that’s not true.”

Overlord freeze on the spot.

“Because you’re one powerful and strong mech. You are a fighter. And you can defeat them.”

Yes. Maybe yes. In his best days, definitely yes. He can definitely take out Sorponok and a few other jets but he’s asking him to run his own way to Megatron. Megatron who defeated him, deemed him unworthy of death, abused him, left him to the madness and allowed him this endless torture. How can he defeat Megatron in his current state? How can he go find Megatron like this? He can’t even bear the thought of been seen like this by Megatron. He’ll know. Of course he will. Of course Overlord will need Fortress Maximus by his side when they find Megatron in Iacon. Fortress Maximus who will talk to him, hold him, tell him unfunny jokes and treat him like the person he is, who promises him he won’t dig out his secrets and will spare no effort to find the way to cure him. Fortress Maximus, the sweet stupid tank, who doesn’t quite trust him, but still protects him.

So no. No he can’t.

But Fortress Maximus is already transforming. In the middle of the sandstorm, he’s removed from the cockpit of the tank when Fortress Maximus shakes off the thick shell and Overlords end up being held in his giant hands. He doesn’t hold him much. Not even in when they snuggle.

The tank pushes the projector into his mouth.

“And remember.” He says, “Even if you are defeated in the end. I’ll be proud of you because you tried.”

With that, he throws him over his head, all the way up to the cliffs that is far above the sandy desert, far away from the storm behind. When Overlord landed on his pedes he starts running toward Iacon. Behind him, the helicopters are still too busy bombing the unyielding tank.

And right in front of him, getting closer and closer, is the gate to Iacon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jazz and Fort Max, doing the Mad Max: Fury road outside Iacon.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: violence, mild gore, body horror. memory flashbacks. PTSD.

“Look, I can call in a favour for you.” Swindle says, “If you can’t touch the bar next door. We can book up Needlenose’ place. Your final destination is actually right below his kitchen isn’t it? Needoenose is a decent guy. You can probably dig a hole in his kitchen and get away with it. Especially if your name is Megatron.”

“And what excuse should we pull out of nowhere to,” Megatron pinches his forehead in defeat, “I don’t know. Get in touch but not being suspicious.”

“Hound has a book signing event at my place tomorrow, for his new book.” Blur says. “I can move it over to Needlenose’ bar. It’s not far.”

“Hound is a terrible liar.” Optimus sighs.

“We don’t have to tell him.” Blur offers, “And, look. If Hound isn’t doing great as at stopping people from finding out what’s going on in the kitchen and you two somehow got blown up, we can call you two the special guests of the event.”

“And we can get blend in his event because?” Megatron raises his optic.

Swindle and Blur exchanges a look.

“Well.” Swindle begins nervously.

“Hound’s book is published by the same company who made the first Megatron movie.” Blur says, “The producers are recently holding an event to, celebrate the 500 vorns anniversary of the creation of the classics from the Megatron Cinematic Universe. The MCU. Since it’s getting a remake soon.”

“The MCU.” Megatron deadpans.

Optimus pours him a cup of tea. “Your trilogy was actually pretty good.”

“Thanks.” Megatron takes the tea, “I like yours better. Except for the ending of the second one where you kissed Prowl.”

“Don’t remind me.” Optimus pours himself another cuppa. He turns to the nervously brooding duo, “Keep it from Hound at all cost. He’s a terrible liar.”

“Will do.” Blur salutes.

Hound certainly is a terrible liar. He was very puzzled by the last-minute change of location for the event, and is absolutely terrified by the fact he may have to co-op with Megatron in his signing. He did, however, show his understanding when Swindle tells him it’s part of Megatron’s election campaign strategy to become a somewhat likable figure to the general audience.

“Loosen up, birdwatcher, he may not even show up. Obviously his MCU self is very likable. He may think that version takes away all his credits.” Swindle lies. “I wish he was actually like that when I was still with the cause.”

“Ha! Don’t we all!” Needlenose is particularly cheerful to have the honour to hold the event, “Anyway! Can I have a signed copy too? The drink is on the house!”

Meanwhile, Optimus is digging a hole in the empty kitchen with Blur, using the noiseless drillers kindly supplied by Swindle and Co.

“Not gonna lie, boss.” Blur sighs, “I’m glad you’ve finally made your way back.”

“If this is the part where you’re gonna tell me you’re still with the Spec Ops this entire time. I’ll pass.” Optimus cuts him off.

“Just,” Blur breaths heavily between breaking the bricks, “talk to Noisemaze alright? He’s actually pretty good. Not as good as Jazz, but still cool as he is.”

“We should go.” Megatron turns on his helm lights. A miner’s frame becomes much more useful when you’re jumping into a hole leading to an unknown place.

The truck-former climbs in first, followed by Megatron. They land in the centre of the sophisticated network of underground ventilation pipes, from where he climbs to where all the power consumption of the compound goes. Optimus also turns on the light on his helm, the miner headlights Megatron has built and installed for him last night to help him see better in the dark. According to the engineering drawings they examined very carefully last night, one of the Core’s major data cable goes underneath the compound and since the place is obviously hollow, they’ve wondered whether the cable goes even deeper or right across the basement. The answer soon reveals itself. They found the cable parallel to the vents, stretching toward where he is also heading. The bar was built way before the establishment of the Core’s underground network. It is impossible that this kind of unusual underground architect was allowed to house the cable’s path. Someone must have covered up the story from inside the Council.

It didn’t take Optimus long to find the location of the lab. Just like he predicted, the room takes up most of the compound’s power supply. From the vents, he can see the outline of an operating table, above which various instruments hang from the wall, directly connected to the power lines in this room. There is also a strange-looking, homemade data portal, directly connected to the data cable of the Core. Optimus tries to lean closer to have a better look at the strange plug slot, when someone kicks open the door carrying something red and slim. They then place the object on the operating table. It is now that Optimus realises, he’s looking at the limbless torso of what used to be Hot Rod. He instantly covers his mouth. He bites on his own fingers, hard, crushing the metal plating until he’s tasting energon. He was worrying that Hot Rod might see him from below, but now, he knows there is no need to worry about such thing. The young mech’s helm is damaged beyond recognition. His jaw is gone and the metal plating from above his nose has been removed to bare his brain module. They did not bother to have his optics stay intact. He wouldn’t have known who, or even what he’s looking at if he did not already expect the worst.

“Optimus.” Megatron warns him.

Optimus nods, he pulls up the battle mask and removed the valve of the capsule of anaesthetic gas he’s carrying.

Once the guards are down, Megatron’s done unscrewing the nails, they removed the lid of the vent and climbed down. After roughly examine his condition, Megatron comes to his most professional medical conclusion.

“We’ll need Ratchet.” He says.

Optimus stayed silent. He undid the plugs behind Rodimus’ neck and pushes the limbless torso onto Megatron’s back, then ties them up with ropes. After lifting Megatron up back to the vents, he heads for the strange plug slot and the control panel of it.

“Optimus.” Megatron turns around and lends him a hand.

“You go.” Optimus says, “I need to get to the bottom of who hurt him, and why.”

“This isn’t the perfect timing.” Megatron says.

“Go.” Optimus insists.

Megatron turns around and starts crawling toward the entrance they dug out with the young Prime on his back. Rodimus Prime is impossibly light on his back, perhaps due to his loss of limbs. But Megatron doubts he’s anywhere near as heavy as Optimus even if they repair him to his usual self. They removed half of his helm to expose his brain module, there’s gotta be good reason for it and it looks damn irrelevant to the antiserum production.

The Core. The Matrix. The pollution. The senates. The election. There must be a connection between all of them, to integrate this mystery to one answer. Will Rodimus Prime be able to tell them the answer?

Or, Soundwave, wherever he is.

“Holy Primus,” Blurr covers his mouth when Megatron lifts Rodimus out of the vents, “he really is here. All this time I live only a few buildings away.”

“Cut the whining.” Megatron warns, “how much longer is the event?”

“About half a joor.” Blurr says, “Where’s Optimus?”

“I’ll go get him.” Megatron says. “Hand me more rope. Remember if I pull the rope, you pull it back.”

His second journey down the hell hole is as smooth as the first time yet somehow feels strangely ominous. He finds Optimus exactly where they parted, the ex-Prime is still focusing on downloading data from the nearest portal, sparing his partner no second glance. His index finger is twitching on the desk, knocking an anxious rhythm. Megatron walks closer, then he realises that particularly strange-looking plug is no longer tangling above the table where they found Rodimus. Optimus has plugged it into his own medical port.

“Optimus?” Megatron marches forward, trying to snap that particular plug out of its slog, when Optimus’ hand catches his halfway. Vicious blue eyes examine him with burning fury, fingers clenching like an iron claw. Behind him, the monitor is glowing in the dim light, with a Decepticon insignia in the middle of the screen.

“I should have known better.” Optimus says. “I should have known, that you are behind all of this.”

“You’re not thinking clear.” Megatron tries to reach for that plug still stuck in his medical port, “You’re confused by whatever you’re downloading. It must be a virus.”

He didn’t have the chance to finish his job when Optimus tosses him to the operating table, knocking off all those delicate looking instruments in one go. The security system beeps its way online. On the floor, the previously unconscious guards are struggling to get up. All of these doesn’t seem to ring a bell for Optimus, who marches closer to Megatron alone, ready to attack.

“You took him hostage.” He says. “You’re trying to use him to get me.”

“What? That was ages ago!” Megatron barks out his confusion.

“You wanted the Matrix for yourself.”

“Haven’t happened in almost 1000 vorns!” Megatron steps down from the table to put more space between them, “Optimus? What in the pit’s name did you just download?!”

His words were met with the operating table being flipped right into his face, unexpectedly, he’s knocked over for the second time and this time, Optimus has the decency to stamp on the upside down table and pin him to the floor. When he notices Megatron is trying to remove the pin of the second bottle of anaesthesia gas, he picks up a gun and shots his thumb, knocking the bottle out of his reach. Then he aims at Megatron in the helm.

“Wait, Optimus.” Megatron raises his undamaged left hands and tries to talk him out of it, “Do you remember why we came here? If you want to fight me, we can do it later. Right now Rodimus needs your help.”

“Rodimus needs whoever is responsible for his status be removed from this planet.” Optimus’ finger clenches on the trigger, “or from the plane of existence. Otherwise neither he nor Cybertron will ever be safe. Cybertron needs to be rid of you!”

Megatron hides his right hand underneath the table and talks on, “If I’m responsible for this mess, why would I lead you down here? Why would I help you find him? Why would I save Drift?”

“To deceive me.” Says Optimus as he gets closer by the step, “Isn’t this what you always do. The art of deception!”

“And who is Drift! How did you know him!” Megatron yells. “If today is the day I kidnapped Hot Rod and shot him in the spark, forcing him to undergo the rebuild that gives him the slot for the Matrix! How do already you know Rodimus is the other name of Hot Rod!”

Optimus’ finger twitches dangerously on the trigger of the gun. Yet he is no longer aiming sharply for Megatron’s helm. His hand slips away an inch when his mind becomes drown in thoughts, new memories and old ones. It gives Megatron the time he needs to draw out his own gun from under the table. The action alarms Optimus. They end up pointing guns at each other, examine each other in silence, challenging each other for the best timing. Yet when the time finally comes, the precious moment is stolen by a guard dashing through the door. Shocked by what he sees inside, the guard bounces back out of the door. Before he can bark out a call for help, a bullet lands in between his eyes, knocking him dead on the floor. Megatron has wasted the bullet he saved for Optimus on the unexpected witness. They can’t yet risk being seen in this facility. But the action enrages Optimus to the point his entire EM field is burning with fury. He crushes the gun in his own hand and squeeze his fist so tight it’s dripping energon.

“Why aren’t you looking at me?!” He demands.

Megatron was ready to take the strike. He turns off his optics to wait for the punch to come. But the strike he expects to land on his face lands violently on the metre box next to his helm instead. The box instantly crumbles under his fist spitting sparks, ultimately damaged beyond repair. The power supply of the room instantly goes off and the plug in Optimus’ medical port beeps offline. He collapses on his knees in front of Megatron. In the darkness, Megatron stares down at the fist-sized dent on the metal in shock, half imaging what damage the strike could have caused if it landed directly on his helm, half realising how those fist-shaped dents on the walls of Ratchet’s panic room came into being. He then stares down at Optimus, who is struggling to recover from the storm of rage and trying to find his pedes again, when a thought quickly slips across his mind. He suddenly becomes aware why Optimus did something as risky as plugging in that portal to his own helm. There isn’t enough time to settle that particular question down. He grabs the rope he’s wearing and ties it to Optimus’ bumper. Perhaps because the physical release of anger has finally cleared his mood, this time Optimus actually reacted to his help, deliberately pulling the rope with one hand and grabbing Megaton’s arm with the other. Before any more guards can rush to the scene, Blurr dragged both of them up in the air, then quickly into the vents they came from. The two of them crawled across the tunnel and eventually surface again when they reach the hole they dug in Needlenose’ kitchen.

“What happened?” Blurr quickly lifts Optimus out of the hole.

Seeing Optimus is in no condition to answer his question, Megatron briefly explains the situation.

“We had an accident which cut off their electricity. They must be coming.”

Swindle rushes in. “What did you do? The bar next door just activated the emergency evacuation protocol and now they are all out in our front yard. Their manager wants to talk to Needlenose. You two need to hide.”

“What do they want?” Blurr asks.

“They say some thief stole something valuable from one of the safes downstairs.” Swindle stutters a few times before continuing, “They told Needlenose they saw them climbing into his bar. They want to search this place.”

“Where’s Rodimus.” Optimus murmurs, still trying to find his own feet.

“Deathsaurus’ solders sent him to a beastformer facility, where they’ll summon Ratchet when the room’s ready.” Blurr explains.

“Good.” Optimus praises absent-mindedly. “I like his efficiency. Never made a better deal with a Decepticon in my entire life.”

Blurr and Swindle exchange a confused look. Something is clearly off about him.

“Did Needlenose say yes to those who want to search his kitchen?” Optimus murmurs.

“You bet them I didn’t.” A voice cut in.

The four of them turn around and find Needlenose standing at the back door, arms crossed, looking stunned, eyeing the mechs in his kitchen and the new hole in the ground in disgust.

“Look,” Swindle laughs nervously, “We can explain.”

“I bet you can.” Needlenose spits. He takes an angry glimpse at Megatron but eventually steps aside to spare the door, “Come this way out to the backyard, across the back alley and comes back around to the front before you meet anyone else.” He says, “You won’t get out this combined compound unnoticed but it will look like you just arrived from outside the building. Tell the volunteers you’re joining the signing event and they’ll probably let you pass.”

“Thank you.” Megatron says.

“Just, get out of here ASAP.” Needlenose spits, he then points to Swindle and Blurr, “And you, move this table. I don’t want no one climb out of that pit hole in my kitchen today.”

Optimus lags dreamily as Megatron walks him to the yard.

“Listen,” Megatron ex-vents, “once we show up for the event, let’s just tell them you’re drunk, alright? You look drunk. You sound drunk. And thank Primus we are surrounded by oil bars.”

“How are you going to explain the scratches and dents?” Optimus sneezes. “We aggressively made out in the back alley?”

“You don’t you know what you are saying.” Megatron says, “Better just say we had a bar fight.”

“Tell them I started it.”

“You did start it, just so we’re clear.” Megatron warns, “But I’m not gonna tell them this. They won’t buy your story anyway.”

“But you’d buy my story, wouldn’t you?” Optimus says, almost incoherently yet his voice and face perfectly serious. “You like this story. Being the Decepticon you are, you’d like the false version better. You’d like the first version best. That we made out in the alley.”

“In your current state, I’d rather not.” Megatron lies.

“Add a few kiss marks they’ll probably all buy it with delight.”

“Holy Primus,” Megatron groans, “What did you download back in there, Optimus? Last time we talked about _partnership_ , you ran away screaming.”

“Exaggeration.” Optimus corrects, “I didn’t download a thing. Quite the opposite, I uploaded my therapy coding to the Core. What you witnessed is a glance into my old self. The Optimus who was sentenced to probation of his citizenship.”

“…You better explain this nonsense.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I know you must have wondered about it too.” Optimus says, “One would have thought, if two people who has been closely associated with the Matrix’ coding during the past 700 vorns then there is no reason that an ex-Prime…”

His words are cut off abruptly. Megatron covers his mouth, clenching fingers on his jaw.

“Don’t.” He says “If everyone lines up to be a martyr then sooner or later you’ll run out of soldiers.”

“It’s not martyrdom I’m talking about.” Optimus whispers behind his fingers, glossa and teeth brushing the gap of his digits like breeze, his words tingle with gentle vibrations, “It’s redemption. It’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”

Megatron isn’t giving him the answer he wants. But the silence is good as it is. Optimus removes his hand from his mouth but holds it close. He leans closer to those fingers. He squeezes his own fingers in between those sharpened claws.

“They told me I had PTSD, anxiety, depression.” Optimus whispers, a strange hint of amusement in his voice, of disappointment, but also of relief, “I told them I was just sad. They didn’t believe me, then I started punching people.”

“You punched walls.” Megatron corrects. “In the bricks.”

“It’s the brick’s fault to have your face.” Optimus insists.

“Sure.” Megatron agrees. “I’ll tell them to stop wearing it.”

“Shush.” His old nemesis whispers, he shuts his eyes closed. He looks tireder than ever and holds on to Megatron’s wrist like it’s the last straw that the long-suffering mule had craved for. He presses the hand to his forehead.

“So tell me.” He says, “How similar my symptoms are to those cases of poisoning you dealt with on GTooxo71. Tell me I’m right. That I was never insane, was never out of my mind.”

Megatron jerks closer, those words seem to ignite a specific type of anger in him.

“No.” He confirms. “You never were. You are Optimus Prime.”

With that, he is suddenly smashed to the wall of the alley and Optimus sealed those gaping lips with his own. Their teeth hit so hard they begin to taste a concussion spinning in the back of their processors. With all the wisdom from Primus himself, Megatron wouldn’t have expected this in the slightest. But he quickly goes with it. The made-out-in-the-alley version of the cover-up story Optimus proposed to him, may not be so bad an idea after all.

They are licking energon from each other’s mouth like two furious beasts, dripping with hunger and lust when the rest of the crowd searching for them found them near the entrance of the front yard. The producers looking for the special guests Swindle promised them and the security guards looking for the thieves the bartenders lied to them about are delightfully ignored due to the passionate pair’s preoccupation. The journalists however, can’t help but start flashing all the cameras in the world. The bright shadows of the flashlights casting on them almost feel like a shower of fireworks show. Optimus on the other hand, perhaps still in his virus-induced haze, can’t bring himself to care less. All the cameras in the world cannot do this moment justice.

All the journalism in the world, cannot mesmerise this moment the way they did.

They stole the event from Hound later that day. Hound, entirely unaware of their plan and genuinely confused by the grudge of the bar owner from next door, only wishes happiness for Optimus. Thundercracker shows up last minute for a signed copy of Hound’s new book but it is apparent that he is the screenplay writer who the producers called in to discuss an urgent new project with.

“I think once Rodimus wakes up he’ll get his own movie.” Megatron leans closer to whisper in Optimus’ audials. “Way better than another _Captain Elita_ or _Ironhide_.”

“Tell him that he might actually wake up early.” Optimus comments. “Deathsaurus just called. Ratchet is coming through his private space bridge tonight.”

“Now no one’s looking. Let’s move.” Megatron grabs his hand.

They didn’t make it further than the fence. A group of armed warframes show up at the gate of the compound and reveals a very irritated Senator Vedette.

“I was on my way to your house when my secretary reported to me about an unusual event today.” He steps out of the vehicle, accompanied by his calvary, “First I would like to congratulate you for your epic romance. Then I would like to have you come with me today, Mr Optimus. A client of mine has requested to see you. Of course, I wouldn’t object if your newly found love would like to come along, too. Though he would have to wait at the reception.”

Megatron steps forward but Optimus stops him using one arm.

“I’m a citizen, Senator Vedette.” He says, “A citizen whose citizenship is on probation. I’m afraid interrogations or negotiations are no longer within my capability. Perhaps you should seek help from those with such expertise. I’m sure your secretary know their number.”

Senator Vedette narrows his optics in amusement, “It’s every citizen’s duty to help build a better society, which also includes providing information when demanded of. I’m sure an ex-Prime such as yourself will understand it better than others.”

“And to who do I own the favour?”

“Captain Thunderclash and his so-called crew.” Senator Vedette says.

Optimus becomes hesitant. Megatron leans closer to whisper in his audials.

“He’s probably lying. The timing is too good.”

“All lies seem more realistic when blended with truth.” Optimus whispers back.

“Anyway,” the senator waives his hand impatiently, “it’s not like you have a choice.”

With that, the elite guards step forward to arrest them, when suddenly another group of warframes show up at the gate. A shuttle lands in front of them, transforms to reveal a yellow bot in his hand. The ever so cheerful minibot smiles at his ex-leader reassuringly. Bumblebee always has the power to make every intense situation to loosen up by simply being there.

“Senator Vedette, ah, and dear elite guards,” Bumblebee smiles apologetically, “Sorry to interrupt but I’m here to pick up a few friends.”

“The Spec Ops Division has arrested two smugglers today near the gate of Iacon. They were responsible for an attempted terrorist attack targeting the election candidate Megatron and his manager Optimus. Fortunately, Commander Noisemaze has foreseen the crisis and the event was terminated by our agents and associates before it had the chance to turn into actual danger. Now the head of the Division would like to have a few words with the victims. I’m sure you can understand that the national security is always a heavier concern for all of us.”

The smiling minibot shrugs and stretch a hand to Optimus.

“Now, may I?” He politely asks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet sweet bumblebee is finally here!  
> Heres a name list of movies in the MCU (Megatron cinematic universe) franchise, give me your suggestions I might add it in:
> 
> Megatron trilogy   
> (The first one is epic. The following two are trashy as hell. Megatron is kinda extra charming in these movies that his old fellows are feeling extra complicated. Overlord likes it more than he would admit tho he's a villain in it.)  
> Optimus trilogy  
> (The first two are trashy as hell but the last one is epic. Optimus is kinda extra nerdy in these movies, has a sweet tooth and blushes a lot. Megatron binge watched these once but too much de javu is gonna kill a guy so he's never watched it again. He then bought the novel.)  
> Megatron vs Optimus: infinite wars/endgame  
> (Right in the title. The one that breaks everyone's heart. The biggest blockbuster of the franchise that everyone bought a ticket for it and PTSD over it ever after)  
> Captain Elita: the first resistance  
> (Feature Elita-1, the elite guards, the rainmakers and Shockwave. Elita was actually hired as a consultant during the filming. Strangely in the movie, Elita seems to have developed a little something for Shockwave. but is never confirmed. Now inofficially the Elite Guard Recruitment Propagenda Video.)  
> Ironhide  
> (Your typical big tough dude with a gun movie. Also tells side stories of the Wreckers. Ironhide loves it.)  
> Doctor Ratchet   
> (You dont need to know anything more about it other than Ratchet hates it with a passion)  
> Black Shadow   
> (Thug life, baby. Feature the fabulous decepticon warriors elite. The eye candy movie that tried to discuss moralities with you but failed. Power and money can't get you happiness. Black shadow's tragic and unnecessary death toward the end makes everyone cry including Black Shaow himself in front of the TV. He's still living his thug life tho.)  
> The guardians of Garrus-9  
> (The psychological one that really talks you into assessing moral conflicts and breaks your heart. Half based on Fort Max' journals. Make you feel sorry for every character even a little sorry for Overlord. Fort Max has never watched it or ever heard of it. Tho the LL crew had at least 3 movie nights watching and crying over it already. It's for his own good.)
> 
> Excuse me for a sec I'm getting sued by disney


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: discussions of war, spy activity, and using virus as a weapon.  
> Optimus' got the touch.

The ride with Bumblebee is, unexpectedly awkward.

Not on Bumblebee’s side of course. The minibot is cheerful and friendly as ever, humming songs, smiling at scenery all the way, even making recs for restaurants and drinks when they drive past places he likes. But it’s ultimately awkward for Optimus and Megatron.

“Don’t worry.” The mini seems to read them well, “Hot Rod is safe. He’s properly hospitalised, guarded by trusted mechs. We’ve also secured the space bridge. Ratchet will arrive safely.”

“By trusted mechs you mean…” Optimus tries.

“The Spec Ops.” Bumblebee explains, “We were also looking for Hot Rod ever since his disappearance. Noisemaze has been suspicious of the poisoning cases ever since the right beginning. Unfortunately we only heard about what happened on DK-27 later than that. Starscream left the statistics he gathered to us before he turned himself in.”

“So Starscream was prepared to be framed.”

“Yes.” Bumblebee confirms, “Actually, Jazz was the one who leaked the vide.”

Now that’s absolutely an eye-opening statement.

“And…” Bumblebee explains on, “When Makeshift told us you two are also plotting against the Council. We told him to, go along.”

“What do you mean by ‘also’?” Optimus asks.

“Come on…it’s no secret that the Spec Ops Division doesn’t get along with the Senates.” Bumblebee shrugs, “How do you think I got you guys out of the situation? You two are the mechs who sneaked in and set off the alarm.”

“So there’re no terrorist smugglers arrested.”

“Actually there are.” Bumblebee says, “There was a disturbance outside the gate of Iacon earlier this morning. A fight engaging at least five mechs. We’ve been keeping an eye on things like this ever since Jazz defected and lost contact with us. We wanted to catch a few soldiers just for information, but every time we catch someone, their brain modules get instantly wiped clean. Like there’s someone out there with a remote control kill switch.”

“You think the Senates are responsible for this?”

“Can’t say for sure. But Makeshift told you about that portal you can install to your brain module and let you access the Core? The Project Noisemaze made the Senators cancel at all cost? We found something similar to that device installed in these soldiers and we believe that’s what killed them.”

“So you’ve been using us.” Megatron points out directly. “You have a mech sitting next to our apartment to monitor all our activities. And when you realise we’re doing your biddings, you decide to use us to get to the prize.”

Bumblebee frowns and blows a huff, but you can tell he isn’t really irritated.

“I’m here to protect you.” He says, “Makeshift helped you. Blurr helped you. Swindle helped you. I helped you. And I wouldn’t call the life of a friend a prize to gain. His life is his own prize, just like yours and mine.”

Megatron is reminded of how stubborn this bright little thing is. Funny a lot of Decepticons liked him even back in the days they were still fighting. He should have expected this. Makeshift did say only the idealists still stay with the Division.

He leans closer to Optimus when they are on their way to Noisemaze’ office.

“You two have a history or what?”

“I kind of,” Optimus is close to _sweating_ , “avoided Bumblebee for 700 vorns straight. Up till now.”

“Why?”

“When I left the High Command, Bumblebee was elected to become the first post-war leader of Iacon. Not because he actually bid for the job, but because I refused to help and people wanted someone easy-going, the opposite image of an authoritative figure. It didn’t go well.”

Megatron lets out a deep sigh, “I don’t think he holds grudge against you.”

Noisemaze however, does hold grudge against him and fairly open about it. The mech reminds people of Soundwave in more than one way. The faceless helm, the bulky chestplate, and the way he stares at people. He has an expressive EM field, which is quite the opposite of his telepathic mentor. But they surely share their love for the minis. The spymaster is surrounded by cyberbirds, all of whom stare at Megatron with velvet, preying optics.

“Thank you for your generosity today.” Optimus greets him.

“Not without a price.” The spymaster says.

They end up telling him the whole story, right from the night Megatron broke into Swindle’s house to the trip down the basement. Optimus is surprised that Megatron really spares no details to Noisemaze almost out-or-characterly. Then he’s reminded that Noisemaze also masters a certain degree of telepathy. From his experience of dealing with Soundwave, Megatron is convinced the easiest way to deal with their kind, is to stay ultimately sincere. Though Noisemaze has no face, his expressive EM field has suggested that he isn’t very impressed by their weeks of misadventures.

“You should have handed Skyfire over to us.” He comments.

“Starscream made the choice.” Megatron says.

“You are entitled to correct his mistake, perhaps as a decent ex-commander, you should.” Noisemaze says. He doesn’t give Megatron time to protest. He simply turns to Optimus to continue his interrogation.

“You uploaded your therapy coding to the Core.” He says, “You believe the Core is connected to the energon poisoning cases. I would like to hear your theory.”

“I uh,” Optimus stirs, he’s still nervous sitting close to Bumblebee and Noisemaze, “I realise the symptoms of the patients are very similar to my own during my asylum days of PTSD treatment, after living with Drift for a few weeks.”

Noisemaze’ field sparks interest to encourage him to continue.

“We all know there are two types of Cybertronian disease,” Optimus says, “One that’s associated with hardware and spark, like cosmic rust and cyberocrosis, the other type is coding malfunction, such as virus and system glitch. Since these poisoning cases started after people’s consumption of presumably polluted energon and can be cured by antiserum, we always assumed it’s a hardware infection.”

He pauses, “But every test says there’s the energon samples are pure. It puzzles us. If you can’t identify the poison you can’t treat the disease. We keep getting complaints about the taste of the polluted energon beng slightly altered but all test results say the samples are completely edible. Then it occurs to me, maybe it is no polluted. The energon is pure, but flavoured. Flavour ingredients are legal, edible and will not show up on tests. But there are coding viruses that can be triggered by sensations. At Devil’s Hose, the Decepticons distributed a sleeper virus to a station of signallers using a faked Decepticon communications frequency. The virus was activated almost a vorn later when the station was abandoned and the soldiers assigned to different locations, by exposing the infected mech, to a lullaby.”

“You’ve seen that, haven’t you?” He asks, “Being a spy, you must be familiar with infiltrations for such purposes. You were close to Soundwave.”

“He designed the first cognitive bomb.”

It all clicks in place. Soundwave’s disappearance, the fast and aggressive expansion of the Core’s network, the energon poisoning, the search for the Matrix, and the election for a new leader.

But it doesn’t explain one thing.

“When Deathsaurus’ colony got into trouble, he went to Starscream for help. Starscream then became suspicious of the energon-processing factory newly brought online by a few non-affiliated merchant-turned senators.” Noisemaze says, “He made the first mistake here. He hired Turmoil to secretly distribute their processed energon to off-world communities to test. He wasn’t aware that Turmoil is actually working for his enemies.”

“Turmoil was at GTooxo71 Station when I dropped by.” Megatron says.

“Turmoil had an order to frame Starscream for good.” Noisemaze says, “Starscream became suspicious of him by the time he was heading to the GT galaxy. When GT Station sent out their distress signal, he panicked and came to me with the whole story.”

“Then you told him you’ll frame him yourself.” Megatron says.

“Cunning as ever, Lord Megatron.” Noisemaze says, his field sparks with sarcasm, “I located Turmoil and sent my mechs after him. It’s a blessing in disguise. Turmoil left behind a few things on GTooxo71 in his hurried escape. In his ship we found a device similar to what the Decepticons constructed to distribute the cognitive bomb. We decoded its programming. There wasn’t much left in it but we pulled out a virtual signature of the Core.”

“So you’ve known this all along.” Optimus says, “You knew Turmoil distributed a cognitive virus on GTooxo71 before he flavoured the energon the residents purchased from Flip Flare. And you’re fully aware it starts with the Core. But you kept us in the dark. You didn’t even tell Starscream about it, did you?”

“No.” Noisemaze confirms.

“Starscream turned himself in. He felt guilty because he thought he poisoned a planet!” Optimus taps the table hard, “He left behind his carrying mate.”

Noisemaze examines the crack on the table between them and says, “Maybe you do need to get back that therapy coding after all.”

This time Optimus stands up from the sofa.

Bumblebee hurries to stop him almost immediately. He puts his own frame between his ex-commander and current one, a servo on Optimus’ chestplate.

“Calm down, Optimus.” He persuades, “It was for the safety of Starscream himself. If he knows the truth, it’s much easier to execute him when he’s prisoned. We cannot risk his life.”

“Noisemaze!” He then turns to the other mech, “You promised me to be nice, remember?”

Reluctance fills the young telepath’s field. He sits deeper in his armchair, proceed to stroke the head of one of his falcons.

“Cut to the topic.” Megatron says. “We want to end this as much as you do.”

Noisemaze pays him no mind. He keeps his attention on Optimus.

“The question has never been the virus, or the mech behind it. That, we can deal with in due time.” He says, “The true mystery we want to solve here, is how the virus is cured.”

“The statistics Turmoil brought to Starscream might be mostly useless, but it still tells a few precious truths. DK-27 in particular, is an ominous message.”

“The community was rather isolated. Understandably so since most of its residents would like to have nothing to do with Cybertron or any other Cybertronian communities. Yet the hermit’s planet still fell, perhaps was plotted to. They probably distributed the virus through broadcasting as they did on GTooxo71, and poisoned their river, in attempt to find the Matrix. But somehow they didn’t show up at DK-27’s worst, instead, they showed up when they’ve cured themselves, and to demand the Matrix.”

“Here is the bad news,” Noisemaze pauses, “we believe a large population of Cybertron have already infected with the virus, distributed by the numerous portals of the Core, waiting to be activated once they bite down on that particular taste.”

“So what we are truly in urgent need of, is the cure.” The young telepath raises his helm to look Optimus in the optics, “That’s the real reason I had Bumblebee invite you here today, otherwise, I would have happily leave you to Senator Vedette. I want to know the connection between the Matrix and the cure. I want to know why you upload a therapy coding, of all things, to the Core.”

A moment of silence.

“Under one condition.” Optimus says. “You will not demand for the Matrix yourself after this.”

“Agreed.” Noisemaze confirms.

Bumblebee lets out a relieved sigh and sits back in his seat. Behind him, Optimus also complied. Once they are all properly seated, a falcon brings in a tray of tea and placed the tray on the table. Optimus peeks at Bumblebee with the corner of his eye and saw him taking a cup and biting on a cookie.

“Please.” Noisemaze invites, “Be our guest.”

Megatron massages his own forehead in defeat, then pours a cup and hands it to Optimus. He himself grabs a cookie from the plate and bites hard on it. It’s Makeshift’s recipe. What a surprise.

“It is said that the Matrix bears the wisdom of all Primes. It allows you to hear the true voice of your people, even to communicate with the deceased.” Optimus takes a sip, “And it’s true. But not in a religious way.”

“It’s an extra processing module, operating independently from your brain module. You can choose to read into its contents like it’s a storage drive or move your cognitive self from your main processor to the Matrix. When you do that, you can temporarily create an alternative reality where the deceased Primes appear as interactive panels. Its vast size and unusual speed of processing allow it to collect signals from every Cybertronian individual and generates a storm of voice that leads you to find faith.”

No one has ever heard a Prime talk so in details about their experience interfacing with the Matrix. Even Megatron is frowning.

“You’ve never told any of us about this.” Bumblebee whispers.

“I did not want to tell anyone such thing in times of war, my friend.” Optimus admits, “As Prowl put it, the true power of the Matrix lies in the mystery of how it operates. I did not want you to lose faith when there’s so little left.”

Bumblebee disagrees. “We put our faith in you. Not the Matrix.”

Optimus doesn’t know what to say this time.

“Either way,” Megatron cuts in, “the Cybertronian society became proceedingly messed up during the era of the Matrix. The society appears to be doing much better without it, seeing what you’ve achieved during the past 700 vorns in its absence.”

“After all these vorns, I still don’t like the way you talk.” Bumblebee sighs.

And Optimus talks on. “I might have lied about the whereabouts of the Matrix when we reached peace, but the removal of the module indeed, caused a system shock to me. With that much of extra storage room, you never feel alone, and hardly overwhelmed by anything. Once you’ve interfaced with it, it writes into your base coding and changes your thinking pattern permanently. So to help me cope, as promised in the Treaty, and to cover up the disappearance of the Matrix, Prowl arranged for a team of engineers to help me adjust. When my mental stability worsened by the day, I was hospitalised, Ratchet called for a different approach. They designed a Matrix substitute, to compensate for the loss.”

“So that’s the special therapy coding you uploaded.” Noisemaze says.

“I was experimenting.” Optimus admits, “Was a risky move to go for. They were clearly looking for something in Rodimus’ head. I can’t imagine anything else other than the Matrix coding they’re looking for. So I uploaded the therapy coding, the Matrix substitute program. It worked and I managed to unregister Rodimus’ spark signature from the system.”

“The Core?”

“Yes.” Optimus confirms, “It’s the Core.”

“So the Core’s coding is actively seeking for the coding of the Matrix?” Bumblebee frowns.

“Likely.” Optimus says, “And it pacifies it.”

“OK, it makes sense.” Bumblebee tiredly pinches his nose bridge, “The Core was originally designed to host the Matrix. Though it eventually became a big lie but part of its base coding was still designed to compensate the Matrix. Is this why they want to find the Matrix? They want to make sure no one plugs it to the Core, so no one can find the cure to their virus?”

“Quite the opposite.” Megatron says, “I think they’re trying to build the Matrix into it.”

“For what?” Bumblebee asks.

“To cure the people they infected with virus.” Megatron says, “If the Core becomes complete, they’ll be able to implant the virus to anyone, anytime. They probably already can. But what if they can cure them too.”

“They’ll have Cybertron.” Optimus whispers.

“People will give Cybertron to them on a golden plate.” Megatron narrows his optics. He looks at Noisemaze, “What do you think? You’ve been awfully silent so far.”

Noisemaze tilts his helm in his direction. His field is a thoughtful blank.

“I think.” He adds, “the way you describe how the Matrix operates, sounds familiar to me.”

“It sounds like the Matrix of Leadership is awfully similar to a telepathic unit.”

“Welcome to the Resistance!” Cheers Bumblebee as he pushes open the gate to the hall.

Walking down the hallway, they are met with quite a few familiar faces. Everyone seems happy to see Bumblebee is back, but not everyone is pleased to find them here.

“And they are all Noisemaze’ employees?” Megatron asks.

“Not exactly.” Bumblebee laughs, “People like Makeshift and me are officially employed by the Division. Then there are the _volunteers_ , like Jazz and Blurr. They actively deny their connections to us, to maintain a front cover at least. But most people are here by their own will, Shadow Striker and the twins run errands for us, people know they’re our men. But we don’t sign anything official with them so if something happens, they can walk free and find another way.”

“Ah, there.” The small bot spots someone far down the hallway and waives his hand exaggeratedly, “Lyzack!”

The female ex-Decepticon turns in the voice’ direction and quickly rushes to hug him.

“Bumblebee!” She smiles. “I haven’t seen you since they sent you on the quest!”

“Here I am, back to Cybertron.” Bumblebee smiles. He then introduce her to Optimus, “Lyzack is Deathsaurus’ second-in-command. Rodimus is currently in her care.”

“Nice to meet you.” Optimus greets.

“Nice to finally meet you too.” Lyzack takes his hand, “I wasn’t much of a frontliner during the time of war. My brother told me about you. This way, please. I’ll show you the special ward we prepared for the young Prime’s surgery. He’s comatose as for now, but his readings are good. He’s uniquely peaceful inside and his spark steady enough for a complete rebuild.”

They follow her into the underground tunnel that leads to the basement of the beastformer clinic where they hospitalised Rodimus. Rodimus is placed in an ICU guarded by a group of breastforce soldiers. Lyzack then excuses herself and proceed to occupy herself with small chats with Bumblebee in the guest room.

Optimus sits down on the bench outside the ICU room, staring into the window and at Rodimus’ tortured body. He can’t seem to move his optics away.

Megatron sits down next to him.

“Every Decepticon we met today seem to dislike me. She didn’t even greet me.” He leans closer, “Now I seem to remember I once punched Deathsaurus in front of her. The wheel of fate always turns in the most mysterious way. Look at her now. She’s fabulous. Perhaps Rodimus will be like her in due time.”

“To make your spark at peace,” Optimus sighs, “Sunstreaker and Sideswipe turned a blind eye to my greeting, too. I think Bumblebee is the only one that truly welcomes me here.”

“And you.” Megatron continues, “Didn’t know you’re that good at deductions. You’re a much better detective than I am.”

“Don’t give yourself so little credit.” Optimus says, “We can still make a great pair with you as a medic. Have you read those imported earth series? There’s this most famous detective of all earthly time by the strange name of _Holmes_ , and he’s partnered with an excellent medic.”

“I’ll make sure the series be added to my list, as a guidance for future career, perhaps.” Megatron chuckles.

They stare at Rodimus together, watching him. His motionless body looks like a corpse. If not for the beeping spark readers by the berth, they’d have mistaken him for one.

“Bumblebee was like a brother to him.” Optimus begins. “When we told him Hot Rod left, he didn’t cope well. A rollercoaster of bad news poured into his life from then. The first few vorns of New Cybertron was a dark era, riots, conflicts and protests every other day. No one wanted to take the leadership. He came to me a few times but I told him off.”

“He’s doing well.” Megatron says, looking at him and Lyzack chatting and smiling in the guest room.

“I honestly think your Decepticons did better.” Optimus comments, “Perhaps you train them better to get used to the idea of independence.”

“More like get used to the idea of being abandoned.” Megatron says.

“You were such a terrible leader.” Optimus lies.

And Megatron laughs.

“Relax,” He says, “We just figured out the antiserum is produced by Drift and Rodimus’ extra coding inserted by the Matrix. We can at least find a way to produce it without turning anyone into a living reactor.”

“I’m not sure if it’s really feasible without the Matrix itself.” Optimus shakes his helm. “We need to find it before they get to it.”

“We just solved the great mystery today, Optimus. Take a break. Things will get better. We have the codes on Drift’s spark chamber, we have Rodimus who wrote those codes, and we now also have the Lost Light nearby, the ship that presumably holds the key to decipher the codes. The answer may even find us.” Megatron says, “Soon, maybe even tomorrow.”

Outside the building, down the streets, filthy with spilt energon and beat up, Overlord is still running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From now on we have Optimus Holmes and Megatron Watson.


	36. Chapter 36

Tarn wakes up to Scorponok reattaching his abdomen parts. He wakes up screaming.

“Kaon!” He yells the name of his old teammate.

“Kaon is dead. You killed him remember?” Scorponok is displeased by his sudden outburst, “Lie still, before I run out of patience.”

“Where am I?” Tarn murmurs dreamily. He does lie down as he’s told. “I was caught up in a mass teleportation.”

“You got lucky.” Scorponok says, “The quantum storm shredded the lower half of your body but left your brain module unharmed. Your spark was a different story. It got blown all the way to Luna-3, Shockwave’s old satellite station. I happened to be nearby to collect your pieces. Though I was very tempted to melt you down for parts our dear employer gently reminded me of how valuable Cybertronian telepaths are to our grand plan. If Soundwave fails, you’re next on the list.”

“I was informed that I will be the last resort.” Tarn murmurs.

“Surely you are.” Scorponok agrees, “It’s not like you are anywhere as efficient as Soundwave anyway. That mech had an intelligent spark, and a brilliant processor. Yours however, will probably flood Iacon with obsession.”

He just finishes attaching his legs when Tarn grabs his neck and lifts him aside.

“Since I’m so valuable to the grand plan.” The telepath says, “How about I kill you and see if someone’s there to stop me.”

“Tsk.” Scorponok laughs, “Never knew you’re so eager to take Soundwave’s place. Can’t say I’m surprised. After all, you were jealous of his special seat on Megatron’s lap ever since the very beginning.”

Tarn shots him a glare and thrusts him back to the floor. His interest in things comes and goes fast these days. Impulsiveness is always a friend of addictions.

Scorponok wriggles his neck a few times to relieve the soreness from almost being strangled.

“Anyway,” he says, “you failed your mission and the Lost Light has made its way to Cybertron. The boss is now forced to negotiate with their captain in a more _official_ manner. I however, succeeded both in saving you from a worser fate, and in securing two valuable informants. Unfortunately, I was bit too harsh on one of them so he’s in no state to talk. The other one that can, refuse to talk. The boss thinks we can use some of your expertise.”

“There is no need.” Tarn stands up from the berth, “Before they interfered, I already acquired enough information from the historian named Rewind. Find me a communications unit and put me through to the boss. I would like to talk to him in private.”

“If you’re not interested in the captives,” Scorponok says, “I would happily add him to our experiment subjects of point percenters.”

Tarn’s step pauses and he turns around to face the mad scientist for the first time today.

“Who exactly are you talking about?” He asks, frowning.

“Fortress Maximus.” Scorponok says, “Why? You like him?”

In some other room, not too far from Tarn’s ward, Shockwave is brooding a sour mood over Jazz’ impaled body.

“I gave you too much credit.” He says.

Still unable to talk, Jazz sends him an apologetic smile and a small “all will be fine” ping.

“I would admit how you united with Fortress Maximus and his pet is a mystery even to me.” Shockwave states, “I presume at least the dog has made its way out.”

Jazz winks.

“Not the very good timing to feel cocky.” Shockwave says, “You chance of surviving your second stay in this base is approximately 2.4591%. My suggestion is, make a last will and testament, especially regarding your shared property with Prowl. Considering your unhappy yet still ongoing marriage, I would recommend you donate your money before he gains access to it.”

Jazz almost sighed this time. The hole in his abdomen isn’t allowing him the satisfaction to ex-vent freely. After a moment of silence, he slowly mouths his words to Shockwave.

Tell. Him. I. Love. Him.

Finding his statement extremely irritating, Shockwave frowns with his one golden optic and suggests. “Or play dead.”

This time, Jazz quickly complies.

Behind them, Soundwave quietly makes his exit. A call request is put on hold and he directs the call to Tarn’s private quarters. It’s dialled from one of the internal lines of the Council Hall.

“Tarn, my friend. My dear follow Cybertronian. I was informed that you bear good news today.” A voice says.

“Indeed.” Tarn confirms, “Unlike the useless others in this base, I have come the closest to finding the Matrix’ whereabouts.”

“It would be my honour to decide,” The voice pauses, “whether your unauthorised and failed mission to our valuable target was fruitful, or your near-death experience is causing a concussion too strong it causes hallucinations.”

“I would prefer neither description.” Tarn insists, “Surely I was right person to be called in for the job, considering what you call an army here under the sand.”

“My time is valuable.”

“So is mine.” Tarn narrows his optics behind the mask, “If you want your answer, show me your virtues.”

A pause from the other side of the line.

“Very well.” The voice eventually agrees, “Please do continue.”

“I had the honour to meet a very ancient historian forged before the golden era. In his massive data bank, I found the videos he filmed around the time they departed from DK-27. It appears Rodimus Prime is more intelligent than we give credit for. He cut the mystery in three pieces before we reached him.”

“He first had the Matrix be transferred to a safe place using a teleporting device. He coded the destination using a special code that only one of his crew knew how to decipher and carved it on Drift’s spark chamber. After that he ordered the three of them alter their own memories and sent Drift, himself, and the other person in separate ways. They promised each other to meet again on Cybertron.”

“Except that he didn’t intend to meet them on Cybertron. Instead, he turned himself in to you as a bait.”

Tarn pauses and continues.

“Given the way things are going, I think his plan went pretty well. Megatron and Optimus Prime probably already have the code and his message.”

“But don’t worry.” He says, “By sheer luck, we have captured the very third key person in the story.”

“Fortress Maximus is the one who knows how to decipher the code. And fortunately for us, he doesn’t know it yet.”

Ratchet arrived safely that night to perform the surgery on Rodimus. Drift came with him. Despite being turned to a serum reactor again, the speedster is in much better shape now. Perhaps some requited love can do magic to your health.

Ratchet took one look first and asked Optimus to keep Drift away from the sight, then he rolled down the curtain. The surgery went on till next morning when Drift is finally allowed to see his Amica. Rodimus no longer looks like a brutalised corpse when Ratchet’s done with him. However, his pale state still angers Drift to the extremes. He swears to butcher Bludgen with his great sword.

“Limbs first, then I’ll behead him.” Drift swears, “Then spark.”

“Cool.” Bumblebee warmly agrees. “You must be Drift then! I’m Bumblebee.”

“Think about this,” Megatron leans to whisper, “the three of them teaming up against you.”

“Horrible, horrible idea, Megatron.” Optimus says.

“He may wake up anytime now.” Ratchet says as he throws away his gloves, “I can bring him online using a spark pacemaker, but I recommend longer rest. Rodimus’ spark and brain module were in very good condition. Usually mechs comatose the way he is display a certain degree of trauma that stops the spark from re-integrating with the brain. I don’t know what grounded him, but despite that horrible look, deep down, he’s at peace.”

“When do you think he’ll wake up.” Optimus says.

“Can’t tell for sure.” The medic says, “I would say as long as it takes. But with these things going on outside, we might eventually need to bring him back online against his will.”

“How was your trip to the Warworld.” Optimus tries to change the topic.

“Did you know that all the beastformers tend to adopt too many younglings.” Ratchet says. “They can’t seem to stop until they adopt every last one of them. The Breastforce are an army of fierce deployer mechs. You have no idea.”

“Actually I do have some idea.” Megatron walks in with a tray of cubes of hot energon. He hands a cup to the exhausted medic, “Once upon a time I used to make rules to restrict people from adopting far too many than they can keep. But again…Soundwave was supposed to be the one who enforces such rules but he wasn’t setting a good example himself.”

“Talking about Soundwave,” Ratchet lets out a deep sigh, “If he truly is kidnapped and forced to build the Core, living in the shadow, he must be still in Iacon.”

“He wasn’t in the basement where Rodimus was kept.” Megatron sits by Optimus’ side. “If he truly bonded with Rodimus, maybe he’ll be able to sense Soundwave’s presence. I used to hate them both for plotting behind my back, but now, I pray to Primus they did the ritual right.”

His prayers are answered, perhaps not by Primus, but by karma itself. In the massive maze of various perfected or incomplete simulations programmes, Rodimus is still looking for the telepath.

“Stop hiding!” He demands. “I can feel you are still here! We bonded, remember! By the ritual and Primus’ witness, we bared our sparks to speak only truth to each other. For the rest of our functioning we walk as one!”

He’s answered by nothing but the echo of his own voice. The empty streets of Iacon’s mirrored simulation, the forever blooming crystal flowers, the steaming drinks on the table of the empty cafes, the colour buildings and the well-painted walls, the beautiful emptiness.

“Please.” He begs. He kneels down and buries his face in his palms. “Is this my punishment? For what I did to Optimus! And how I failed my own people on DK-27.”

“Because I’m not a real Prime.” He whispers, “I never take care of anyone, anything. I betrayed my own leader. I ran from the consequences of my actions. I left my ally to this eternal torment of being built into a machine! I let my tortured, appalled best friend travel the most dangerous journey all by himself. I forced some one as traumatised as Fortress Maximus to take the burden of my leadership!”

“You said you were angry! Is this how you unleash your anger for me! Answer me, Soundwave!”

The empty wind whispers in his audials, using a voice that almost sounds like Soundwave.

_Wake up, Rodimus. Don’t keep them waiting._

“No!” He says, “Not without you!”

Overlord crawls his way into Iacon between the heavy pedes of the border enforcers and the newcomers. The beat-up merchants had herds of beat-up turbofoxes guarding their beat-up cargo on their way into the city, and he blended in right away. Iacon is nothing like what he imagined, but he is in no mood to be awestruck by its beauty. After all, he doesn’t really know where Megatron lives. Though it’s probably not too hard to find out, it’s not like he can get up and ask the others. He tried to find attention by placing the projector on the ground barking at nothing, not even sure whose attention he was seeking for. With Jazz and Fortress Maximus gone, if the Lost Light did have arrived, he doubts any crewmember would be pleased to see him like they used to be. He half expects to see Megatron pops out of nowhere and with that cold, indifferent, cruel face he’ll tell him he did well, he didn’t expect anything less from him, but it turns out that’s just another unlikely fantasy his desperate mind cooks.

Megatron isn’t here waiting for him. No one is. The stunningly beautiful, grand city of Iacon lies beneath his paws, unwelcoming and uninterested in what he has to offer.

All of a sudden everything looks ominously scary. Every pede that stamps near seems to wish him harm. Every passer-by, every citizen of the planet looks so foreign from below that they don’t even seem Cybertronian to him. A familiar feeling unravels in his stomach. The turbofox steps aback, no longer willing to run. He wants to seel shelter somewhere. Exhaustion hits him like a bomb it almost knocks him out, when finally, finally someone has reached for him with a hand. Soundwave manifests from the lights and shadows of this beautiful world of nonsense, his form perfected to the pixel yet obscure. He looks innocent and young, almost like a youngling.

Overlord pauses his backward steps and step forward for once.

“I don’t know how to find Megatron.” He admits, almost shamed of his powerlessness.

Soundwave examines him carefully, or perhaps telepathically. The ex-communications officer wants no lies and finds none.

“You wish for power.” He concludes.

“Yes.” Overlord says, almost too eager to grasp his chance. “Megatron will not spare a second glance to something as powerless as what I am now. He will not accept my help even if I find him.”

“You wish to use Shockwave’s vessel before you find Megatron.”

“Yes!” Overlord insists.

He’s almost certain Soundwave will say no. How will he be able to guarantee Overlord will delivery his message once he’s used that protoform vessel. What does Overlord have to bargin with him? All the vorns, millions of years on the giving end of tortures has taught him the pleasure of taking someone’s helplessness for granted. When power is not by your side, there’s nothing left to bargain for.

To his surprise, Soundwave nods agreeingly. He steps aside to show him a holographic map to the location of the hidden lab. He even gives him the password to the instrument.

“Megatron is with Optimus and Deathsaurus at the moment.” The telepath explains to him almost _patiently_ , “I have also marked the location of the facility they now live in. You’ll find Megatron there every morning at 800th cycle, walking down the street to the nearest cafe. Once you’ve done your upgrade, you’ find him there. After delivering the message, you are free to go.”

“What will you do after that?” Overlord asks.

“We will not cross path again unless you get in my way.” Soundwave says, “Whatever you wish to do with your upgraded body is entirely up to yourself.”

“I may joint your enemy.” Overlord warns.

“You may.” Soundwave says, “Even if they are responsible for your reformat, you still may.”

Yes. This is Overlord. With enough power at hand, he just may go for Megatron’s head any second, even joining the mechs reformat him into a turbofox could be an acceptable plan.

“Do you still think he’ll win?” Overlord steps forward, “After so many vorns of so-called peace to corrupt his spark.”

Soundwave glance at him behind the visors. Even in his reduced form, he looks thoughtful enough to be a monument worthy being placed at the central park.

“He won’t win, Overlord. He never did. He is a mech of commitment who always knows what he wants. It’s an important virtue, but it doesn’t always get you what you want.” The telepath says, “But you will lose, Overlord. Because you don’t know what you want yet.”

With that, the telepath dissolves into the bright daylight of Iacon, into the noise of its lively population. To the thousand voices that claim their different wishes, Soundwave is nowhere to be found.

“Cybertronian telepathy.” Megatron sighs as he lifts loads of dusty datapads from the shelf. “There have been so many more papers on Cybertronian telepathy than the number of telepaths that have ever been born in the entire Cybertronian history.”

“Before the war I thought that was a myth.” Optimus admits, “Yet again, before the war I thought Matrix of the Leadership was a myth. And the Allspark.”

“I thought Primes were a myth.” Megatron says as he cleans the datapads with a piece of clothing, “Then I killed one and rescued one. I even kissed one yesterday.”

“Good point.” Optimus puts down another box of datapads on their table, “Primus must be real, too. So is time travel.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Skyfire shyly asks, “May I turn on the ventilation system? The smell of dust makes me a little uncomfortable.”

“Of course.” Optimus quickly turns on the ventilation. He then hands Megatron a bucket of solvents for him to dampen his piece of clothing, “No dust for Starscream’s baby.”

Skyfire chuckles softly and returns to his ongoing project of weaving another scarf.

“I should call in Ratchet to give you a better examination.” Megatron suggests.

“I think you’re a fine medic yourself.” Skyfire smiles, “Leave Ratchet to his lover and his lover’s Amica, will you?”

“As you wish.” Megatron sighs. “Anyway, Cybertronian telepathy, here we go, ‘Cybertronian telepathy walks a thin line between empathy and technopathy’.”

“Never underestimate the ignorance of the non-oiutliers.” Noisemaze notes holding a cup of tea, a cyber falcon almost looking identical to laserbeak on his shoulder, “if you want to know anything in specific about Cybertronian telepathy. You can just ask.”

“I think I already know the basics.” Megatron announces, “Remember when you didn’t know how your own power worked and Soundwave and I had to teach you from scratch.”

“A most terrible mentor one can ever hope for.” Noisemaze snickers, his field emitting embarrassment.

“You were such a cheerful kid back then. Couldn’t keep your optics on the datapad for three kliks.” Megatron puts down the datapads he’s cleaning and takes another. “Shame you have to grow up. If Soundwave’s here, he must be so proud.”

“Soundwave would be so proud even if I become a part-time DJ for an underground band that performs in the trashiest pub once every month and sells activated crystals for a living.”

“True.” Megatron sighs.

Optimus brings in the last box of datapads along with a tray of goodies to their dusty table.

“I don’t know about Megatron but if you don’t mind me asking, I would like to know a little about those myths and rumours.”

“Which part would you like to know about?”

Optimus hesitates before asking, “If the rumours about the experiments were true.”

Noisemaze puts down his cup of tea. He’s silent for a while. He looks concerned. Though he has no face, his field emits his true feeling and there is a taste of grief in there.

“Unfortunately, most of the rumours were. I myself, was rescued from an Autobot facility near the beginning of the war.” He says, “A facility built by the old Senates to study Cybertronian telepathy. It is believed that most beastformers bear a certain degree of telepathy or at least enhanced senses. There were owners of certain strains of turbofoxes who communicate with their non-linguistic companions without barrier. Some believed that these turbofoxes hold the key to telepathy. They ran enough brutal experiments to have the entire species die out.”

“And there are even rarer ones. The ones easy to study but hard to find. The telepathic outliers. Mechs like us will not make it out of Vector Sigma. We are collected and raised up in facilities like the Institute. I grew up surrounded by beastformers, whose telepathy only allow them to express simple emotions without words. They send me their joy and frustrations. They told me about Soundwave. A telepath so powerful that the senate brought experiments on him to a new different level. They used him to communicate with the Matrix and the Allspark, in an attempt to control their power.”

“Did they succeed?” Optimus asks.

“No.” Noisemaze confirms, “Soundwave once told me about the experiment to synchronise him with the Matrix. He said even he couldn’t keep up with the speed of information flow of that instrument. The senate came up with a solution to build an outer shell of databank and external super network to help him catch up with Matrix’ signalling, but the project became abandoned when Megatron rose to power and they needed their money on oppressing the Decepticons.”

“Here it is.” Megatron announces as he picks up one particular datapad, “A classic masterpiece about ‘Religious experience and enhanced senses: the gifted ones’, written by a scholar class mech named Kinetic, from the Polyhexian Institute of Technology. Skyfire, have you heard of this guy?”

“If he was from Polyhexian Institute of Technology and studied outliers, I think I might have met him once or twice at a conference.” Skyfire admits, “I only vaguely remember that Shockwave invited over their dean to JAAT for a joined symposium.”

“His profile says he was the 27th dean of the institute.” Megatron reads.

Skyfire chuckles, “27th dean you say? People used to call the Polyhexian Institute of Technology the 27th institute because it was located at the 27th of the W27 Ave in Polyhex.”

“Noisemaze, would you be able to find out what happened to this guy after the war broke out?” Optimus asks.

“I happen to know who may hold the first-hand information.” Noisemaze suggests after examine the data threads under the name Kinetic, “There is this archivist named Rewind on board the Lost Light. Yesterday Thunderclash has reached out to us with the name list of his crew members and a request to set them free. Most of his people have some sour history, but there are a handful who do not. Thunderclash has so far demanded for Ultra Magnus to take the position and defend their lawful rights.” He pauses, “And of course, I would be the one who provides Ultra Magnus with background check results. I’ll have a few mechs walk free by tomorrow morning, including him.”

“Can I take a look?” Optimus asks.

“Of course.” Noisemaze sends him the name list, “Be my guest and tell me who would you like to see tomorrow and I’ll see what I can do.”

“This one.” Optimus points at one name, “Brainstorm, can you free him?”

“Brainstorm, an ex-Decepticon infiltrator.” Noisemaze checks, “Scientist, engineer, weaponry expert but non-military individual. I don’t see much of a problem, but why.”

“Just a feeling,” Optimus pauses, “He was…a very resourceful individual.” He pauses for a second and asks in pure confusion. “Rung is also on the ship? But he was my therapist. Prowl’s therapist too when he and Jazz were still counselling. Since when is he no longer on Cybertron?”

“Rung?” Noisemaze leans closer to re-examine the name, “Ah, he really is here. I didn’t notice his name. Do you want him too?”

Thoughtfully, Optimus concludes, “I…would like to. Seeing that he left Cybertron for DK-27 at some point, there must be a reason.”

Noisemaze huffs a small sound that’s almost a chuckle, “He might not need background check at all. If he left without a trace, I suppose he might have no problem sneaking back to Cybertron.”

“Mechs, hear me out.” Megatron suddenly re-announces his presence, “It turns out Kinetic also has a spark brother named Dynamic who was exceedingly interested in comprehending the Allspark.” Megatron says, “The twin brothers are both fascinated by the concept of ‘connection’. While Kinetic was an expert in telepathy connections and their application in unusual communications such as communications with the Matrix, Dynamic specialised in spacebridges into sophisticated multidimensional paradoxes. I think I actually met his brother once. The senators wanted to apply his research in mining, especially in those dangerous areas where a drill might instantly ignite an explosion.”

“Dynamic and Kynetic of the Institute 27, ” Optimus sighs, “you think someone is trying to put their technology to inappropriate use?”

“Or maybe someone already did.” Noisemaze notes, “Think about how the energon river on DK-27 got flavoured to trigger the virus. You can either sneak in to do the job on DK-27, which is the riskiest choice considering DK-27 was extremely well-guarded from the outside world. Or, you do it directly to the source of the river, the Allspark. Seeing that most harvested batches are still safe to consume, that probably isn’t the case. Then the third option, would be directly manipulating the space bridge, as long as you can find the Cybertronian end of that portal.”

“A logical solution.” Optimus agrees.

“Wait, what did you just say?” Megatron raises his helm from the datapads he is reading, “Optimus, what did you say?”

“A logical solution?” Optimus repeats.

“No, the previous one.” Megatron insists, “What did you say before Noisemaze lectured us about the poisoning.”

Noisemaze rolls his non-existing optics.

“Dynamic and Kinetic of the Institute 27, you think someone is trying to put their technology to use?” Optimus repeats cautiously.

Megatron pauses a thoughtful moment before adding his comment.

“What is DK-27 short for?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you cut a secret into three pieces for three mechs to guard to its final denstination, you'd better not choose three hopelessly self-destructive PTSD ex-vets with low self-esteem issues. Look at you three. Ratchet's gonna scold the slag out of you.  
> Anyway, the mystery is finall unraveling. Let me know what you think.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: violence, body modification  
> I introduced Overfox as a Halloween special solely for this plot twist but 'ts sill badly written as hell since it's not my first language.

Soundwave was already waiting there in the dark lab not far from the basement of the Council Hall, when Overlord entered the facility using the passcode he left him with. This time, the telepath didn’t manifest a visible form for the turbofox to acknowledge. Overlord has never been the type who takes interest in science and the dark side of it, otherwise he would have heard about the infamous project that killed off the entire species of turbofoxes whose frame type he’s currently wearing. They used to be pampered little creatures for their mysterious connection with more linguistic mechanisms. Overlord had thought Fortress Maximus was a telepathic mech, but in truth, its his own ability doing the trick. Scorponok had wanted a telepathic dog by his side, however, the revived turbofox refused to sustain the bond with him. Overlord on the other hand, finds no problem connecting his own mind to the mech who rescued him from his personal purgatory and guards his dignity like his own.

Imagine how Fortress Maximus will react when he finds out who his little pet really is, yet Soundwave doubts he will ever find out. At least not from Overlord himself.

He watches in silence as the turbofox turns on the protofom’s reservoir, examining the silver liquid with care. He even dips his paw in to have a little taste of it. He clearly has no idea where this night is going, but knowing Overlord, perhaps terms such as risk assessment never really meant anything in his functioning.

Soundwave doesn’t like the sight or the foreseeable result any more than he does. But it’s better than being constantly bugged by a persistent Rodimus Prime too determined to let him go. The ghost closes his eyes shut at the thought. He swallows down the bitter taste in his mouth and try to focus on the event of entertainment right in front of his optics. Eventually, the ex-phase sixer jumps in. The container instantly closes its lid and starts injecting the ingredients into its now completely sealed tube, starting with acid strong enough to melt the external armours. Once the acid is discharged, the vessel becomes full of the pinkish colour of energon. Skeletal limbs knock the glass wall with force, trying to find a way out in agonising pain. Soundwave leans closer putting his own hands on the vibrating glass walls. It reminds him why this place remains hidden after so many vorns.

The vessel was originally intended to alter Megatron himself, to coat his very own skeleton with ununtrium and enhance his strength to a new level. But Megatron turned down Shockwave’s proposal, saying powers are meant for soldiers, while a leader would need so much more than just power to fulfil his purpose. Being born with a special power grant you a ticket to survival, but to live a life, you need too many extra things to fill in the numerous gaps between yourself and the others. When they still trusted each other, he had tried his best to narrow the gaps between himself and Megatron, so that there would be no need for the ruthless conqueror to spare much of his precious effort, time or attention to live a life with Soundwave and his cassettes in it, which Soundwave knew by his spark that Megatron secretly craved for.

But still, while he didn’t lose Megatron to the world he desperately tried to protect his family from, Megatron lost him instead.

Overlord smashed the glass with his newly forged frame once the upgrade is over and done with, much like what he did the first time only without Megatron to congratulate him for his continued existence as a reluctant slave in his possession this time. His body hits the floor with a loud bang but the noise is quickly muffled by the splash of the liquid trying to get free from the glass tube that trapped it for hundreds of years. The phase sixer howls and shreds the instrument to pieces out of pure instinct. The impulsive ravage goes on and on until there isn’t much of this room left and even the walls are crumbled enough to collapse any klik. Familiar shivers of thrill eventually pacify him, he calms down and sits straight on the messy floor finally embracing himself with the powers he was meant for, until his reflection in the layers of acid coating the floor catches his optics. The reflection of a large, fierce, powerful beast.

A beast.

The smell of panic fills the room like a burning corpse, the awful stench fills Soundwave’s intake. Of course an upgrade cannot manifest a transformation cog out of nowhere. That would be Primus’ own handy work. Much contrary to the common belief of people, there are always powers out there without a price just ripe for the taking, as long as you know the right person and the right passcode, but power alone does not grant you what you want. There are two many abysmal gaps between a life and the world around you, and these greedy mouths will never crave for only one particular type of food to feed themselves on. And if you don’t get them enough, they’ll feed on you instead.

He’ll see. He’ll see better when he sees Megatron.

Soundwave turns away before the giant turbofox can howl out his devastation. He pays no mind to the animally whimpers and the whines behind his heels. The basement of the Council Hall is his domain, where he wonders and paces around like a king without his premises, allowing people only to hear what they want to hear, know what they want to know, covering their eyes and ears from secrets and affairs that he would rather hide them from. When he’s not hiding in his layers of simulations inside the circuits or peeking through portals of the Core across the city, he finds peaceful solitude in his oldest room here. Three floors under the carpet of the meeting hall lies his old frame, still beeping its pulses across the entire city yet hasn’t been visited ever since he was sat in that morbid crown.

He stops outside the room to observe the layers of padlocks that are already rotting with so much rust that a single strike would punch right through the door. But he can’t break free. He never will. He’s just like Overlord, trapped with splendid powers for eternity but barriered from a real life, and much worse for him, he doesn’t even want that power to begin with.

He was about to reach for the door when someone takes his shoulder by surprise. Rodimus Prime lifts him up like he’s a feather with no weight and swings his frame to the other side of the hallway.

“I touched you.” Rodimus is more stunned than ever, “You were supposed to be untouchable.”

“It’s a dangerous sign.” Soundwave explains, “Meaning you’ve started to be integrated to this network like I am. I you choose to overstay your welcome here any longer than you already did, you will find yourself fixated to this realm, unable to break free again, just like me.”

“If this is you telling me off, it isn’t working.” Rodimus insists. “I’ll be out of the Core’s hair so long as you make it to the exit with me.”

“You don’t have much time left for that decision, Rodimus.” Soundwave warns.

Rodimus kneels down in front of Soundwave to bring his own optics to the same level, looking at what is almost as small as a youngling, “I think you have even less time than me. Tell me what happened, Soundwave? So I can help you.”

“Jazz has delivered Shockwave’s message at heavy cost to himself. He’s incapacitated and now brought back to the base.” Soundwave says, “Even worse. Fortress Maximus was brought in with him. You know what the ex-warden is capable of and what a crucial piece to the puzzle does he hold. They’ll need help.”

“Then let’s help them.” Rodimus persuades.

“Not us, me. Soundwave says, “I’ll watch over them from inside the Core. The base is nothing like that small dungeon Bludgeon held you under. They can’t be rescued by two mechs who dug a hole with a shovel. I need to stay with them.”

“Then let me help you with that, too.” Rodimus insists.

“You can help them better once you wake up in that berth, Rodimus.”

“Then come with me to the world of reality.” Rodimus begs, “Whatever lies in front of us, let’s do this together. Haven’t you already seen enough what a foolish split-up can do to a mission?”

“I no longer possess a functional body.” Soundwave reasons.

“Stop lying to me.” Rodimus shakes his helm, “You possessed Drift’s frame when you had to, you can get into mine and have my consent. Once you talk to Optimus and Megatron we will figure something out together. We have Ratchet, he’ll build you a new one anywhere, anytime, on your demand.”

To that, Soundwave lowers his helm and retreats his now tiny body toward the rusty gate. His answer is almost a whimper too soft to hear.

“He will not.”

Rodimus reaches his both hands for that tiny frame when he suddenly stops and realises what Soundwave’s subconsciously defending him from.

“What is inside this door.” He asks. “What lies beyond those locks?”

“Nothing.” Soundwave lies, “Another room with massive bodies of circuit works.”

“You are a terrible liar for an ex-spy.” Rodimus says. He stands up and reaches for the door. He doesn’t need to open it to get through, perks of being in another dimension where there’s no physical boundary. But before he can touch that door his servos are stranded by feeler cables that appear out of nowhere. Robotic tendrils swallow his reaching digits like a desperate lamprey’s mouth.

“Soundwave.” He begs, “Please, let me go. We still have a chance.”

“I’m sorry it has to come to this.” Soundwave says. “But you need to leave me alone.”

The alternative reality of simulations collapses around them, walls and floors tearing down like sandpapers to reveal the eternal darkness underneath. Those twisting feelers wraps up his entire frame like the warm, welcoming mouth of an invisible beast. The young prime howls and screams when memories are ripped from him, his brain module being digested piece by piece by the acidic foam that is the beast’s filthy drool. Before everything fades into black, he turns on the flame gun on his finger, and does what he did the best. He fires the flames, but this time at his own arm. Drift and his jokes about his terrible hand-writing be damned, he brands the number of that locked room onto his left servo.

“Not gonna, give up this time.” He whispers.

He wakes up to Ratchet’s surprised face a moment afterward, disoriented and confused, entirely unsure where he is and why did he end up here. But Drift rushes to his berth to hold his servo, whispering all the sweet nothings into his audials. He glances up to that familiar face with pointy edges of his amica that he can never get enough of, when he realises no one seems to see those a few digits branded on his left servo. R3334b, what does it even mean?

On the other side of the monitoring camera, Soundwave closes the window and turns off the lights on Nemesis. He buries his helm between his knees. Outside the Nemesis it’s always sunny and bright, and on the table, there’s always Rumble and Frenzy’s favourite drink.

Early in that morning Optimus was summoned to rush to Rodimus’ waking berth, Megatron on the other hand, went to their favourite café down the street to get breakfast take-out for two. It has become his morning routine ever since Skyfire joined their secret society. The shuttle craves for assorted flavours during his carry and Megatron as his medic, has made it his daily duty to fulfil his request. He also highly doubts Rodimus Prime will be pleased to see him by Optimus’ side judging by how Drift reacted to his helping hand back on GToox71. He did not however, expect to be approached by a giant canine beastformer on his way back, in the quiet lane outside Iacon hospital with two cubes of hot energon in hand and a bag of warm baked goods stuffed in his subspace.

The cyber wolf is almost as big as Megatron himself but doesn’t seem to transform into anything at all. At first it paces around Megatron as if it’s trying to assess his threat level, once Megatron has made it clear that he’s far from interested in crossing path with the giant dog it dares closer, almost blocking the road with his enormous bulk. It puzzles Megatron with its bizarre actions who eventually puts his two cubes of breakfast energon on the nearest window. When he stops the cyberwolf stops with him, and when he kneels the cyberwolf kneels in front of him too. Its velvet eyes full of a yearning that Megatron cannot interpret and slowly, Megatron reaches for its helm and lays his palm between those furious eyes. He pats its helm as a gesture of comfort and friendliness.

But suddenly, the cyberwolf looks like it’s been gravely insulted. It jerks away in shock, looking at Megatron as if he’s just been spat right in the face, and grows exceedingly more upset when Megatron tries to show more of his harmlessness, baring his own hands to show no gun or swords in his possession and no intention to do whatsoever. The cyberwolf begins to growl and groan, howling lowly in his throat, trying to express whatever he feels so angry about seeing Megatron here. Megatron feels entirely out of his luck now. True that he befriended an army of overly expressive beastformers and non-linguistic cyber-animals as a consequence of herding an entire generation restless Decepticons, but it surely doesn’t give you a free pass to the spark of every turbofox at their first glance, especially when you can’t really tell what they want from you and they surely can’t tell you that either.

Eventually the ex-Decepticon shakes his helm in defeat and retrieves those two cubes of hot energon he left on the window. To his surprise, the cyberwolf attacks him immediately seeing his intention to leave, claws trying to pin his shoulders on the wall and almost knocks over that precious cube of copper-flavoured fuel that Skyfire has a made special request about the night before.

“Hold it you beast.” Megatron sighs impatiently, he’s now willing to offer whatever the wolf demands of as long as he’ll clear the road for him, “You after fuel? Leave this one alone and I’ll give you my share.”

He offers his own cube of hot energon and the ungrateful beast immediately smashes the cube to the wall nearby. Its entire frame shakes with fury and it bares its teeth before he can no longer contain it and launching its full power on Megatron. The ex-Decepticon ends up sparring with the cyberwolf in the back alley, desperately trying to defend Skyfire’s breakfast of limited flavour from the beast’s mean attacks. All the dodging and hiding pump the beast’s anger to its peak. But he cannot find the proper outlet for release because in the optics of Megatron himself, a proper fight with him means even less than that cube of flavoured drink. The wolf aims its attack at that tangling tube at last, knocking it from Megatron’s hand and stands howling upon its remains triumphantly. It ticks Megatron over his edge and he sends the wolf flying with one strike on its helm. The wolf seems to love his spirit too much it comes back for more, only to be smashed face down into the puddle of the spilt energon on the ground.

Yet Megatron still have enough mercy in stock to let him go.

“Leave before I call animal control.” He warns. “I don’t know what you want and I don’t intend to find out. You’re one useless mindless beast and I don’t find you worth killing.”

The beast struggles under his pinning pedes, not for mercy, but for more. Megatron doesn’t understand. Why does he not understand? Did Megatron not want him to come back to him after all the experiments and tortures he left him to? Did Megatron not expect to see him here in his reformatted form? Did Megatron not plan this?

Or did Megatron actually intend for him to die there, useless, worthless, powerless, at the hand of someone who’s far less worthy of Megatron’s interest, never fathoming a chance to confront him again?

From confusion rises the taste of humiliation. The wolf pushes away the pede on his jaw and bites on his leg, to which Megatron finally screams, before punching him right in the eye hard enough he can no longer clench his joints. When Megatron breaks free he’s a kicking, whimpering mess on the ground, unable to find his balance with a broken eye and a concussion humming in his brain. This time, the animal control does show up on the other side of the ally, someone has reported the sighting of a giant wolf to the station. They’re ready to take him away, out back to the wild where he should belong and where civilisation doesn’t exist. The wolf however, is far from giving up on his fight. It struggles to his own pedes in a predator’s posture, one remaining optic focused on Megatron and Megatron only, barely aware of anything else that’s going on in this ally. A certain realisation in Megatron’s eyes blooms like a sparkle of fire in spring. It almost tastes like hope on Overlord’s glossa. He thrusts forward, but Megatron did not move an inch. He stands there looking at him as if he’s something horrifying, disgusting, and he’d rather not engage with.

His old leader looks at him only so briefly, and then he turns his optics away.

“Leave.” He says, suddenly completely uninterested in his whole existence. “I’m not interested in sending you to the animal shelter myself.”

And It confirms his worst fear.

Megatron doesn’t have plan for him at all. He never did.

He’s allowed himself to come back for nothing. At the cost of so much, here comes nothing.

The wolf backs down in disbelief. This time it doesn’t feel like a defeat, or even a panic. Someone’s humming a soft song in his audials. It sounds like Soundwave but far too innocent and far too young. Maybe it is him. He’s here to remind Overlord of the time for his payment. When Megatron turns away Overlord puts down the data chip from Jazz and the project from Shockwave.

And with that, he runs away in another direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Overlord whump. I can't believe I'm saying this but, Overlord whump.  
> You want to be a powerful monster, a ruthless beast, now you are exactly that. Becareful what you wish for.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to finish this story as fast as I can. but it's not working

“And that,” Ultra Magnus announces, “would be all I need to say about the defendant’s case.”

“Freed.” The judge concludes.

Outside the court, Bumblebee is already waiting for them.

“I can’t believe we’re back on Cybertron.” Rewind says, “And I can’t believe we’re seeing each other again!”

“Come on, Rewind, Blaster can’t wait to greet you again.” Bumblebee pats him on the shoulder, then waves his hand to a few others who’ve just been freed from the Lost Light, “And there’re more surprising miracles in this world.”

Trailcutter almost shrieked when he and others are greeted by Rodimus himself in the special ward of the hospital basement.

“You made it!” The ex-Autobot cheers, “Damn! Captain, you’ve no idea how hard we looked for you!”

“Here I am, back to my own feet.” Rodimus smiles and pokes Drift in the thigh, “With my most loyal knight by my side.”

“Not so soon.” Ratchet warns.

“Of course not.” Rodimus agrees, “My knight is still on his honeymoon. Not gonna call him back so soon. That’ll ruin the fun.”

“You married now?” Chromedome asks Drift, who then blushes like a heated crucible.

“Just engaged.” He admits. “Ratchet says medics can’t marry their patients until they’re properly healed! But…he also said the rules didn’t say you can’t engage them first.”

“That is,” the mnemosurgeon swallows his words when Ratchet casts him a cold glare, “that’s exactly what the oath made us promise.”

“Where is Fortress Maximus?” Rodimus asks, “I told him he can punch me all he likes when he gets here.”

“Max didn’t make it.” Chromedome lowers his helm.

“But he had the key.” Rodimus asks. “How can he….”

“He let me keep the record of all G9’s digital locks once the ship took off.” Rewind says, “In case he can’t make it to Cybertron.” He pauses, “I think he didn’t intend to make it here from the right beginning.”

Rodimus sits there in silence.

“What happened?” He eventually asks.

“There was an attack. One rescue mission had us picking up the wrong kind of guest on board and set him loose.” Chromedome explains, he lowers his arm and pats Rewind on the shoulder to comfort the tiny data stick, “Fortress Maximus handed the ship to Captain Thunderclash and rescued us from Overlord and the backup he called in.”

“The backup?”

“Tarn was there.” Rewinds says, “He forced me to show him my data. Max killed him before an army of legislators could get to us.” He pauses, “I’m the only one who bears all the data of what happened on DK-27, during the poisoning when people went mad, and after the cure was found. We thought we might be faced with the worst situation when we reach Cybertron. But everything looks fine here. It almost makes our suffering seem meaningless.”

“Not as peaceful as it looks like,” Optimus walks in with Noisemaze by his hand, “We believe a great number of citizens are already infected with the virus, just waiting to be triggered once the refinery comes online.”

“Virus?” Chromedome asks in surprise.

“Long story.” Optimus says. He kneels in front of Rodimus to examine his status, “I’m glad you’re back with us.”

“I can say the same to you.” The young Prime smiles sadly.

“You must be Rung.” Noisemaze says.

Finally, everyone’s attention is focused on the small orange bot sitting quietly by Rodimus’ berth. The psychiatrist looks both very nervous and strangely honoured when everyone in the room is suddenly looking at him.

“Yes.” Rung quietly says, “That would be me.”

“Nice to finally meet you.” Noisemaze says, “Optimus had told me that you designed his therapy coding and uploaded it to his system in order to treat his anxiety caused by his forced separation with the Matrix. I would like to ask you a few questions regarding how you designed it.”

Rung is about to make his comment when Megatron rushes into the crowded room with a small device in his hand.

“Someone sent me this earlier this morning.” The ex-Decepticon says, “Quick, I think it’s from Jazz.”

When Fortress Maximus wakes up it’s for another round of torture.

“I don’t see why you’re keeping me here.” He whispers, “My ship has made it through with a new captain and soon to be united with the old one. I don’t see why I’m of any value to your cause.”

“Surely you do.” Tarn sharpens his knife with patience, “You know something they don’t and we would like to have it at hand when as our mechs gather the other pieces from Iacon.”

“The pieces you lost, you mean.”

“Outsmarting me will get you nowhere near victory.” Tarn warns, “I’m sure Overlord has taught you that much.”

“Overlord is better at his job.” Fortress Maximus huffs, “If my encounter with him is to prepare me for yours, I think it’s working efficiently.”

“Of course. Because Overlord is a monster.” Tarn puts down his knife on the table and walks closer, “And I’m not.”

“You dead teammates beg to differ.” The Autobot tank says, “Your lone survivor has told me enough of your monstrous nature. You butchered your own team.”

This time the masked Decepticon stops and raises his helm in surprise. “You met Nickel?”

“She’s now one of my crew. A kind-hearted medic that you never deserved.”

Tarn lowers his helm and paces to the other side of the table. He looks like he’s almost in shame. “You protected her. From me.”

“Duty as her leader.” Max says.

The other tank stays silent on the other side of the table, with his back facing the ex-Autobot.

“Thank you.” He eventually says.

This time, even Fort Max doesn’t know how to respond.

“She swears to revenge on you.” He says.

“Rightfully so.”

“And you would lay down your servos to take it?”

“I wouldn’t imagine otherwise even in my dream.”

The ex-Autobot looks at him in pure confusion. “Then why did you try to kill her?”

“I was in a drug-induced haze,” Tarn says, he turns around to face the other tank again, “When Megatron declared peace with Optimus, the DJD were instantly grouped as level 12 threats kill-on-sight, and how many mechs were in that group? Even Overlord only made to 11. We were confused, wounded and hopeless, out there alone in the dark where our leader left us. My team needed something to hold on to, so I told them we go avenge ourselves on Megatron. And to make that happen, to protect my mechs from the universe I needed more power!”

“You drugged yourself.”

“I upgraded myself!” Tarn corrects, “It worked perfectly at first until I realise it also did a number to my mind. When I finally stopped it was already too late for regret.” He walks closer to his captive and look at him in the optics, “You of all mechs should understand, what it feels like when things get out of control. You’ve seen it happen, you’ve seen mechs being forced to do things they wouldn’t do under any other circumstances. I was also a prison wardern when Grindcore was”

And Fort Max cuts him off with a growl, “Don’t you dare compare Grindcore to Garrus-9! Grindcore was a butcher’s slaughterhouse. You melt people alive for parts! We rehab people on Garrus-9 and bring justice to those who don’t even deserve it!”

“You reduce mechs’ life and will to digital threads with a supercomputer that has an addiction for guilt, Fortress Maximus. And you reprogramme people without their consent so that they’ll forget how to use a gun. I’ve met Decepticons who would rather jump into a smelter than having his mind altered by your so-called ‘justice’.” He grabs the other tank by the collar, “And here we are, with a chance of redemption right in front of our eyes. We can make things right again. We can undo what happened and we can even bring our friends back to life! You sacrificed thousands of lives for that supercomputer! Why can’t you help us build another one! Give us, the code of Aequitas.”

“Do you think I approved that fragging project!” Max spits, “Do you think I sincerely approve of what we did on G9, what Prowl and the High Command ordered us to do? Why do you think I never returned to Cybertron even after I was rescued and put back together? Why I’d rather throw myself at every opportunity to die before I end up here on this planet!”

“So what, you loath the new Cybertron enough to want them to suffer what you were put through?” Tarn shots back.

“Yes!” Fortress Maximus says, “Because the dead deserve to be mourned and the wronged deserve their guilt! Don’t you dare, to take this away from them! Don’t you dare, to take this away from yourself!”

And this time, Tarn backs down. He cowards away in defeat, turning his back on Fort Max almost sorrowfully. He lowers his helm to examine the knives and drills on the table for one last time, then leaves for the door.

“That’s enough for today.” He whispers, “Enjoy it when you can, it’s for Nickel. Tomorrow, I will not be so merciful.”

With that, he left the room and closed the door behind.

Once he’s back to the control room he asks for an update from Senator Vedette, and Soundwave, sensing his distress, delightfully pulls out exactly what he needs to see, the reports of the ongoing trials and the name list of the Lost Light crew. The tank growls in frustration and sweeps the datapads from the console, while in the meantime, the other telepath sits right in front of his eyes, pulling his invisible strings.

“Get me a private line to the Council Hall, I need to talk to him!” The tank orders.

And Soundwave makes sure a call is arranged in no time for him.

Senator Vedette picks up the call with a warning.

“I told you not to call me during office hours. People will wonder who I’m talking to.”

“Enough of the fuss.” Tarn says, “You had the name list of the ship’s crew since yesterday and you didn’t bother to tell me Nickel is also on the ship?”

“Nickel? Oh your ex team medic. He’s on the ship? I didn’t know.”

“It’s ‘she’.” Tarn corrects him. “And pay her respect before I decide to execute you during this call.”

“Intriguing.” Vedette laughs, “Never took you for the type who values friendship.”

“You don’t know me.” Tarn warns, “Don’t pretend you do. No one does.”

“Perhaps you should stop pretending you’re too deep for anyone, Tarn.” Vedette says, “Relax, once the Core is fully online with the Matrix operating inside, connecting it directly to the Allspark, you can reunite with all your teammates in the new realm. It hurts no one to kill one more first.”

“No.” Tarn warns, “No one hurts Nickel. If someone tells me you’ve ever sent anyone after her, or come to her harm even remotely, I’ll go after you. And make sure you don’t come back again in any form.”

“Sentinel Prime.”

“If this is all true,” Optimus concludes after roughly examining the data in the drive Jazz sent them, “Then to make it work, they’ll need someone who can manipulate the Matrix with their will.”

“I don’t know what to say, I mean, whoa,” Bumblebee lay down his arms, optics wide, “whoa, connect everyone to the Allspark through a supercomputer that operates on the Matrix? An alternative reality where there’s no line between death or life, or free will?”

“Finally, till all are one.” Rodimus comments, “Not what how I imagined we should achieve it.”

“And it’s blasphemous,” comments Drift the only religious voice of the calvary, “not to mention highly unhygienic in, every way possible.”

“Did you guys not hear what Optimus just said?” Megatron says. “They’ll need someone who can manipulate the Matrix in order to make this happen.”

“Which means?” Drift tilts his helm.

“Meaning they’ll need a Prime to give the order.” Noisemaze says as he carries in a tray of baked goods. “Remind me why am I serving you people again? This is my house, my base, and you’re all terribly unwelcomed here.”

Then he quickly adds before the small yellow bot gets his tongue, “Not you, Bumblebee. You’re an angel and I’m thrilled you’re here to help.”

“Not gonna leave you alone to these mechs.” Bumblebee smiles.

“Hold on a sec,” Rodimus raises his hand, “they’ll need a Prime. They had a Prime. But I don’t think they were too interested in, reprograming me or anything. All they ever asked was the whereabout of the Matrix.”

“Talking about the Matrix,” Megatron cuts in again, “Where is it by the way?”

“About that,” Rodimus sighs, “You’ll need Brainstorm and Rewind’s help to find it. The code on Drift’s spark chamber translates to a serial number in G9’s stasis cuff password coding system. Max was the only one who mesmerised these codes but now we know he’s left it with Rewind, it probably will take some time to decode it.”

“To the coordinates?”

“To the right time.” Rodimus corrects him, “I didn’t send the Matrix to a location. I sent it to a certain time point in Cybertronian history.”

“You what?” Megatron asks in disbelief.

“One of my greatest part-time hobby for the past millions of years was to build a functional time machine.” Brainstorm explains casually.

“I can guarantee you it provides safe travel.” Chromedome confirms.

“We’ve tried it.” Trailcutter agrees.

“Actually we all did.” Added by a few others newly freed this morning.

“I have the footage of the first a few trips.” Rewind assures them. “Domey and I had a picnic outside the old crystal city.”

“And that’s the reason I was kidnapped by Thunderclash from Cybertron then found myself on DK-27,” Rung takes off his glasses, “He was worried about their mental health when Rodimus Prime began to tell him stories about his time travels.”

“And your conclusions are?” Megatron stares.

“They’re perfectly sane.” Rung says.

“Get used to it!” Yells Ratchet from the room next door.

Optimus buries his forehead in his palms and slowly drag them across his face.

“OK,” He sighs deeply, “so what time did you send the Matrix to?”

“The 3rd of the 1174’s cycle.” Says Rewind, “That’s what the code translates to.”

“It’s pre-war.” Megatron concludes. “I was still working in the mines.”

“I was working for the Iacon law enforcement.” Optimus says, “Sentinel was still in charge.”

“Well since there was a Prime above everyone’s head back then,” Rodimus says, “I figured even if someone at that particular time point found the Matrix they’d just assume it’s a fake.”

“Clever thinking.” Megatron says, “But we still need a physical location for the Matrix.”

“About that.” Drift cuts in, “So, actually we sent someone with the Matrix for its safekeeping. In our original plan he was to guard the Matrix until the same time next day in his timeline, and meet us again in the Iacon Library, exactly where the new City Hall is located.”

“Who’s with the Matrix now?” Optimus asks.

“It’s Grimlock.”

“Grimlock was with you?” Optimus frowns. “Everyone assumed he’s dead. His dinobots made him a special alter and mourn for him every year.”

“Well, we found him on Garrus-9 along with the other survivors,” Rodimus explains, “Most ex-prisoners chose to stay officially dead since the Treaty re-announced their sentence and a few even deemed high-level threats. Grim was a Level 10, same as Drift.”

“I was a poster mech back then.” Drift winks, “Flip Flare and Co. If I get to stay, you get to stay too.”

“Time for your meds, poster boy.” Ratchet walks in with a package of cubes, he hands one to Rodimus too, “And you, don’t think you’re getting away with it. I’m whipping your aft once you’re back on your own pedes. Everyone else, as ordered by the house owner, to stay in this force you all will drink antiserum every decacycle and consume unflavoured, unfiltered energon from now on. Now come along, take your share, and go thank that mech-shaped serum reactor over there.”

“Gross.” Rodimus groans, he nudges Drift, “How much did he milk out of you during your honeymoon?”

“Three days in and I lost count.” Drift laughs, “Things naturally get blurry when I’m with Ratchet. Jealous as much?”

“Ha! In your dreams, it’s not like I didn’t enjoy my part of the journey.” Rodimus laughs, “You wouldn’t believe how steady the Nemesis can fly.”

“You went to the Nemesis?” Drift frowns in confusion.

Rodimus frowns in confusion too. He casually licks his meds from the cube, “I’m not sure. I was drugged most of the time. Perhaps I was having a fever dream of sorts.” He pauses and snaps his fingers, “There’s one way to find out.” Then he waves to Megatron sitting in the corner, “Hey, big bad bot! Was there a tearoom with energon boilers and sweetener makers on the Nemesis? Big windows, hot energon, really cozy and serves this weird green-ish drinks?”

Megatron narrows his optics. “It was Rumble’s favourite drink.”

“Yeah, that one!” Rodimus cheers before quickly covering his mouth, “Wait, how did I know that?”

“Are you feeling okey, Rodimus?” Rung walks closer, “If you’re experiencing some issues, remember I’m always here to help you.”

“I’m doing fine.” The young Prime’s still covering his mouth, frowning to himself, “I’m just, I think the meds taste really terrible.”

“Are you sure?” Rung leans closer to examine his arm, “Then what are these numbers on your arm? Did you do this to yourself?”

“Wait, you can see it?” Rodimus startles, “I…I thought I was imagining it. But you can see these numbers too?”

“Yes,” Rung thoughtfully confirms, “R3334b. It looks like a room number. I’ve seen one like this a long time ago, back in the old Iaconian Library, in the basement, right where the Council Hall now is.”

“What do you think we should do next?” Optimus asks Megatron as the two of them hide in their favourite corner, sharing a cube.

“I’m not sure. To go find the Matrix in the past, or go find out which senator’s behind this first. Or,” Megatron says, “perhaps go digging for that base in the desert Jazz told us about in that data drive, see if he’s still alive. Or probably the most logical answer at hand, to free the Lost Light crew from the ship so they can unite with us.”

“I’m not asking for the most logical answer.” Optimus says, “We are apparently no leaders here, nor are we deciding the fate of this particular gathering. It looks like they did just fine with us digging in the dirt and stood watching. I’m asking what you want to do now. You came here with a case, now the case is solved.”

“Solved, not dealt with.” Megatron claims. He sips on his own drink, “No one’s safe until all of this is over.”

“You are the one who told me there is never an end to this kind of madness so I either turn in other direction or jump in and get used to living with it.” Optimus shrugs, “It’s rather apparent which one I chose. So here I ask you what you want. You’ve helped me, as your partner, I’m entitled to return the favour.”

“I’m sure that’s not how partnership works.” Megatron sighs, “But yes. I would admit I do have a certain wish in mind. If you care to listen.”

“I am listening.”

“I want to find Soundwave.” Megatron says, his fingers clenching on that small projector the wolf left him with this morning, “I have a bad feeling about this whole situation. I have feeling if we don’t hurry, he’ll be faced with the worst.”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence when Rodimus rolls his wheelchair right to him.

“Hey, big bad.” The young Prime says, “I heard you’re a candidate now. Can you get us into the Council Hall?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tarn wants to be a good guy. He and Max somehow both strike me as the type who would go to art school if the war never happened.   
> That would be hilarious. Another shitty sitcom.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been a little busy.  
> Now my city is in lockdown.

Working with Tarn isn’t easy, Soundwave has recently noted, but not in the sense he had presumed. While they are both considered Cybertronian telepaths, Tarn’s techniques would fall into the group of technopathy compared with his, considering how little feedback he prefers to receive from his victims. His lack of interest in information has limited his mastery of his unique gift, shadowing Soundwave’s blurry outline in his enormous appetite for obsession. So no, Tarn can’t see him, can’t sense his presence in the slightest, and will never give it a try.

If it wasn’t for his blindness, all those years ago Soundwave would have happily recruited him into his collection of spark-bound family. While he did train the other telepath to sharpen and weaponise his skills in the battlefield, Tarn always considers Megatron as his true mentor. The mentorship of Megatron however, became something more and more worth being frowned upon as vorns went by especially seeing how the best of his pupils ended up pitifully distorted in more senses he can count once the war had been declared over and done with. Every now and then when Soundwave watched Megatron openly express his affection for the cassettes without ever shedding the thought of hiding his appreciation for their work, the jealousy in the air was too thick he almost felt sorry for the killing machines who were expected higher and higher head counts out of them. In the rare moments of confession and vulnerability, his Lord had once told him he would reformat these ruthless young killers of his into something harmless and magnificent once the war is over, then treat them to a new life in a brand new world built upon their very own past. Well, Overlord is a magnificent new dog now, so it’s not like he didn’t succeed in at least one case, but Soundwave doubts this is what Megatron had in mind for his version of post-war utopia.

So it’s not like working around Tarn will likely lead to Tarn finally sensing Soundwave’s presence or at least even try, or that Tarn is too stubborn and obsessed to be manipulated by Soundwave’s invisible, secret deeds. Quite the opposite, Tarn is a bit too compulsive in decision making that manipulating him becomes a bit too concerning to his secret life manager. Soundwave has simply delayed Nickel’s information for one day and arranged for the scenario in which Tarn had to find out for himself that he almost killed his old teammate again, so that Tarn would become more inclined to distrust the senators with the future of the ex-Decepticons, fully prepared to be tipped over when Soundwave requires his assistance. But one brief and unpleasant talk with Senator Vedette ending up in a disagreement Tarn is already fully prepared to betray his recent employer and to this result Soundwave is having mixed feelings.

The purple tank sneaks into the special ward of Fortress Maximus when Scorponok is attending to his other objects, calls off the other guards then requires the Core to put him through to the Spec Ops.

Soundwave promptly gives him a secured line to Noisemaze, who quickly picks up the line after a few loud beeps. On second thought, Soundwave switches Noisemaze’ side of connection to visual-only, in case Tarn becomes too compulsive to even negotiate with the one ex-Decepticon who’s actually useful in the grand plan.

“I have something of yours.” The tank begins.

“Quite a few, I believe.” Noisemaze casually confirms, “To which piece of my old trashes do I owe your round of boredom today? Dear top assassin.”

“One of your employees has been gravely injured and nursed back to health by a friend of mine.” Tarn says, “I’m wondering when will you arrange for the pickup.”

“A mutual friend, I assume.”

“All our friends are mutual friends, Noisemaze, considering how blindly loyal we both were during our times of service.”

Noisemaze makes a small huff, “Are they? Didn’t know you and Lord Megatron still talk to each other.”

Tarn narrows his optics, “You consider yourself a friend of his?”

“More like,” Noisemaze tilts his helm, “he desperately begs me to consider him as a friend, while I desperately try to purge him from my guest room like a deadly pest. Mission very unsuccessful, so far, on both sides of the standoff. Is it why you are calling, so that I can give the phone to your unrequited ex?”

Holding up their communication, Soundwave almost chuckles. Since when did Noisemaze become such a menace of sass, picking up where his feral twins left and with enough in stock for every ne who ever outranked him. If only he did get to see his old pupil more often outside Noisemaze’ reluctant routinely meetings with Impactor himself.

“As appealing as that offer may sounds,” Tarn however, finally finds his decency, “I would require a different type of payment.”

“Do tell.”

“I want a certain code from you in exchange for someone’ life. I’m assuming you know what code I’m talking about.”

Noisemaze fall silent, his faceless helm an unreadable blank. He doesn’t look too surprise, if anything, he actually looks prepared. But there is a bit wariness in his voice.

“I’m expecting a certain senator to drop the news.” He says, “Not some exempted, rarely-seen, lapdog of a has-been assassin.”

“Our mutual senator friend will reach you in no time.” Tarn confirms, “I’m sure you will hear from him within a day.”

“A deal behind a senator’s back. Very interesting.” Noisemaze whispers, “What does he have in stock for me?”

“Jazz.” Tarn says.

Noisemaze huffs, “The previous head of my department. What makes he think I’ll trade anything for the very person I delightfully replaced.”

“Save the scrap for Vedette and I’m not interested in you spies’ bullshitting of a relationship conceptualisation.” Tarn says.

Noisemaze is silent for a brief moment before agreeing to negotiate. “Very well, then save us both some time and tell me how will his offer be different from yours?”

“He and I will ask for the same prize.”

“Then I don’t understand why should I talk to you instead of him.”

“Because he’ll offer you Jazz and Jazz alone.” Tarn states, “He’ll never tell you Fortress Maximus is still alive and with us.” He turns the camera to the racks, revealing the tormented tank, “I however, would happily ship off them both.”

Soundwave tilts his helm. It’s his cue. He then proceeds to patch up the call and leaks the link to the security team, disguised as a delayed crossed line.

Five breems later, when Tarn hangs up the phone with a satisfying deal and a smirk on his masked face, a calm, yet displeased Senator Vedette marches into his room with a cup of wine in his hand.

“I heard an interesting conversation today.” He says.

“Every conversation is humorous around here. Including this one.” Tarn says. He is then ready to leave Vedette to his victims, but Vedette orders the guards to block his way.

“They don’t stand a chance against me.” Tarn warns.

“No they don’t.” Vedette confirms, “Nor do they have the need to. We are comrades after all and unlike you, my soldiers do not have the tendency to slaughter their own teammates out of pure frustration, or even act on it.”

He pauses and begins again, this time with more patience in his voice, “I thought we agreed on something, Tarn, something beautiful and we will work for it together. So to get there I will give Jazz to Noisemaze, in exchange for the code, and send Fortress Maximus to Thunderclash in exchange for access to the time machine you told me about. Yet here you are, ruining the grand plan, bidding with a higher number than they deserve.”

“I am not.” Tarn warns. “Because you and I both know there is never a price to pay. You will not give away either of your prisoners no matter what deals you cut with your partners.”

“Yet they do not know that fact, nor do they need to.” Vedette points out. “Now if they have the slim chance to talk to each other, they will find out.”

To that Tarn casts out a bitter laugh, “Trust me, they already did. Maybe Lord Megatron doesn’t know you well enough to make a better judgement and Thunderclash is too much an idealist to bargain, but Noisemaze definitely can do the math for everyone. He was the beloved student of Soundwave in a sense truer than Overlord ever was to Megatron.” He picks up his wireless phone and pushes away the guards, “And if you are worried they’ll talk, perhaps you should have that shadowplayed sleeper agent of yours take care of it. Red Alert was it? After all the trouble we’ve been through to get him to that very position to serve in the Council Hall by your side, to operate on the very supercomputer whose CPU is physically right beneath your office, after taking out Prowl to spare that position and putting Starscream in jail, all because you would rather not get your own hands dirty.”

“Not getting my hand dirty is an essential part of the plan, and an essential part of leadership. I would have thought the DJD executioner himself does have a certain taste for keeping his leader’s hands clean. It turns out I’ve given you too much credits than you deserve.” Vedette says, “Or perhaps you should work on being more helpful starting from now. I will have Bludgen deal with Noisemaze. You however, I’d like you to explain to our beloved Captain Thunderclash in person, why we are no longer expecting a Fortress Maximus to his generous party.”

Tarn turns around to look at the senator in the eye, yet the uncaring smile on that face does not falter, instead the ex-Prime lifts the glass of energon wine to his face.

“A toast to the new peace.” He says. “This time, the real and permanent one.”

Tarn does not take his glass of wine.

“Perhaps you will even meet your minibot medic fem there. What’s her name again?” Vedette smirks, “Nickel. Surely you want to greet her there yourself, don’t you? Or would you rather I send Scorponok to the Lost Light.”

This time, Tarn grabs that glass and empties the energon into his own throat. He tosses the glass to the floor once he’s done and storms out of the door.

Once he’s out of sight, Senator Vedette leans to one of his guards and whispers.

“Activate the virus once he’s with that minibot of his. We don’t need no deal when everyone on the Lost Light is dead. And I can’t wait to see how he will beg for my forgiveness after he’s slaughtered his last teammate.”

With that, he finishes his own glass of wine before leaving the ward with all his guards. Once everyone’s left, Fortress Maximus slowly onlines his optics.

“This isn’t good.” Bumblebee says as he walks with Noisemaze’ down the hallway, “I mean, it is good. It’s great. Fortress Maximus is still alive and so is Jazz. But trading with Tarn? Senator Vedette and his gang are already a handful but Tarn is a maniac.”

“The code translates to a time slot.” Noisemaze says, “Even if we give him the code and he figures it out, he’ll still need to crack the code and find a time machine to get to the Matrix.”

“Which is why the entire deal thing is nonsense,” Bumblebee insists, “Who does he need to crack the code? Fortress Maximus. Who will he give us in exchange for the code? Fortress Maximus. Do you not see the problem here?”

“Maybe Fortress Maximus has already agreed to give him the formula.” Noisemaze shrugs.

“I highly doubt that.” Bumblebee looks a little offended, “He was at Garrus-9 during that one decade Overlord was in charge and when Prowl finally sent in a team vorns later the top secret chamber was still intact.”

“Well,” Noisemaze sighs, “then let’s hope he’s his lesser self now after what Prowl had put him through.”

“Not nice!” Bumblebee insists. “We talked about being nice!”

“Or Tarn forced it out of his memory bank with his outlier ability.” Noisemaze offers the alternative, “Anything to make you sleep better at night.” He pauses, “Anyhow, he’ll need the time machine. As long as the time machine is with us, we can afford to play his game.”

“Brainstorm is with us,” Bumblebee corrects, “along with one of his many time-travelling portals that guide you to the Matrix. And the time machine itself is on board the Lost Light.”

“One time-travelling briefcase plus Brainstorm himself is enough for the extraction.” Noisemaze states, “We will order our team to retrieve the Matrix using his side of the portal soon as the team assembles. And I will guard the ship from the Senate. Whatever kind of bastard Tarn is, given the situation it’s safer to operate behind Vedette’s back because we know damn well that once he realises he really can’t get to the Matrix himself, he’ll just activate the virus so we will have to hand it to him. That’s why he’s in no hurry up till now. We should assemble our team for the extraction.”

Bumblebee sighs and nods, “Alright, I’ll talk Optimus into this.”

They push open the door to the hall.

“Where is Optimus and Brainstorm,” Bumblebee pauses, “and Megatron?”

“They left a joor ago.” Says Sunstreaker with his helm buried in his twin’s cockpit, fixing Primus know what, “Said good old Impactor lets Perceptor give them a tour in the Council Hall. They took Hot Rod and Ratchet with them along with those two ex-Cons, the one with too many swords and the one with the briefcase.”

“Damn it.” Bumblebee swears. “Why am I always a step too late for these guys?”

“Welcome to the New Council.” Says Thundercracker as he leads the crowd into the guest room next to the conference hall. “I’ll be showing you around today per Impactor’s request. Let’s begin with introducing ourselves. Starting from myself, I’m sure you all know who I am. I’m Thundercracker, better known as ‘the blue seeker’, but usually they just refer to me as the quiet one. I don’t think I’m that quiet, but people used to say who you mix yourself with defines you better than you do yourself.” He laughs nervously, “Words of wisdom, truly.”

The blue seeker then points to Optimus and Megatron, “I’m sure no one needs introduction from these two. They’re actually half the reason I’m here since, well, the Council Hall tour guide thing is a casual position usually occupied by some other clerks of this building and by that I mean 95% of the time it’s Skyfire but he’s resigned since his mate fragged up big time, no one has been taking tours in a while. I’m not even employed here more like, casually visiting and organising files every now and then for both of my disastrous trine mates who work here full-time. But Lord Impactor doesn’t want to turn you guys down for sure especially one of you asked very nicely during the call. Anyway, I’m like, legitimately a brother-in-law to Skyfire which means I legitimately should show up to help you out.”

“Thundercracker,” Megatron tries, “Calm down. There is nothing to worry about. We just want to walk around and take a look.”

“Am I babbling?” Thundercracker laughs dryly, “See? I’m totally not the quiet one.”

“How about you start introducing the others?” Optimus politely suggests.

“Yeah! Sure!” Thundercracker cheers, he checks the name list, “Anyway, here’s Hot Rod, Brainstorm and Drift, our guests of the day. Welcome back to Cybertron and I hope the planet finds you well. It is my honour to show you the foundation of Cybertron’s new system and how it is different from the old one!”

“Fascinating!” Says Brainstorm as he carefully examines one of the interactive showcase panels installed near the entrance.

“Thank you.” Says Thundercracker.

“I’m like, 80% sure he isn’t talking to you.” Says Drift. When Thundercracker shrugs and turns around to lead the way to the exit, he leans down to Rodimus who’s seated in the wheelchair, “So much for hospitality as a fellow Decepticon I guess.”

“I believe his ignorance isn’t intentional,” Rung dismissively announces as he wipes his glasses, “or faction-related considering he didn’t even acknowledge me either.”

“Come on, eyebrow. You are here and that’s what counts.” Rodimus nudges him.

“Who are you by the way, if you don’t mind me asking?” Says the other unacknowledged guest of the tour, “I’m Red Alert by the way. The other half of the reason he’s been summoned here. I’ll start working here myself from tomorrow, as the new chief computer engineer taking over Project Core’s old team.”

“Yeah, so we’ve heard.” Rodimus grins, “You are the poor guy collecting Prowl’s dumb pieces, Red! Didn’t know you had it in you!”

Red Alert takes aback instantly with a haunting face. “I’m sorry who are you? I was told the other guests are new-arrives from that pirate sheep.”

“The Lost Light.” Rung puts on his glasses again, “As a matter of fact, we both know you personally during the war. Rodimus, or Hot Rod went through a series of misfortunes that led to his several upgrades, making him slightly unrecognisable to you. I however, was your therapist since before the war till the end of it. I’m glad you’ve taken my advice to find a different profession once the war is over. Programming suits you well.”

“I’m sorry if you used to know me but I don’t act like it.” Red Alert apologises.

“Don’t worry about that.” Rung smiles, “I get that a lot. I’ve been told I’m very easy to miss. I take it as a compliment.”

“No it’s not you.” Red Alert shakes his helm, “I was shot in a riot soon after the first election, according to the record, right in the helm and left to die in a back ally where a garbage mech found me. My brain damage caused severe loss of memories but opened my mind to the world of programming. The police tried to contact most people they thought should hear the news, but still, every now and then I find they missed a few.”

Rung’s faceplate heats up a little. “I’m sorry.” He admits, “I wasn’t…I didn’t know that’s the reason behind your abrupt cancellation for all your future appointments. I…waited through a few of them, but I should have reached out…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Red Alert winks, “I get it. I ghost people a lot even in my rightest mind or so I’ve been told.”

“Wheelchair accessible ramp is this way.” Yells Thundercracker from across the hallway.

“I believe that’s our cue.” Says Drift. He lands both of his hands on the handle of Rodimus’ chair. “You ready, bro?”

“Forged ready.” Rodimus grins.

“Most areas aren’t too crowded today.” Thundercracker explains as he shows Optimus and Megatron down the stairs, “The supercomputer will have a new chief computer engineer from tomorrow and Prowl’s old team is giving him a hard time by…not being here.” He then nervously eyes the rest of the group happily playing on the ramp, before whispering, “Per Impactor’s request.”

“We’re delaying the reboot as long as we can without raising suspicions.” The blue seeker quietly explains, “But I doubt it’s gonna last. Senator Impactor doesn’t have much time left. His situation has worsened since your last visit but we can’t afford to show it to the audience, so it’s actually Makeshift staying in his ward now, pretending to be him.”

“Is this why Red Alert is assigned to take the tour with us?” Megatron whispers back, “You think Red Alert will try something soon?”

“We don’t know yet.” Thundercracker whispers even lower, “But, as quiet as it may seems today, our tour routine is heavily guarded in the shadow. Skywarp is in standby in the monitor room. He’ll warp in any moment to warp out any threat.”

“Red Alert acts fairly normal so far.” Optimus whispers, “He isn’t much of a good pretender. Have you scanned him for virus or implants.”

“That is part of the problem.” Thundercracker leans closer, “The new chief computer engineer suffers an old brain wound that requires numerous micro-implants to help him recover. We can’t get a clean reading without getting bit more aggressive.”

“Is that why we are here?” Optimus asks.

Thundercracker nods fanatically, “You made the request to see the remains of the old library’s basement. That section of the facility is open to the general public for research and education purposes but only upon request. The rest of the team are conveniently on private leave, if anyone’s gonna ask afterwards, they’d politely admit they did it to give their new boss a cold shoulder. They can’t arrest the entire team otherwise Red Alert won’t be able to do the reboot alone. Either way, the situation will benefit us. There’s no CCTV down there. The walls are old-school thick. You get the picture.”

Megatron slowly nods in agreement.

“You have the equipment ready down there?” Optimus sounds concerned, “Is it safe for Red Alert to go through this?”

“Why. Do you think I planned this all by myself.”, Thundercracker whispers, looking slightly annoyed “Cerebros is waiting downstairs. He’s the best brain Autobot surgeon around here and a friend of Red Alert himself. Good thing he’s on our side.”

“Hey, check this out.” Brainstorm bounces to them, “I downloaded a holographic map from the tour guide panel. I compared it with the map of the old library that Rewind gave me yesterday, re-calculated the 3D dimensions accordingly and I think,” he points to a certain wall near the outer shell of the power plant close to the basement storage room on the B2 floor. “that there is some extra space behind this wall than it shows. It’s a very good location to activate the time machine and extract Grimlock.”

“The what machine?” Thundercracker blinks twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is getting longer and longer and longer.


End file.
